Scraping Away the Mask
by tklivory
Summary: After a large steam bath is installed in Skyhold, Cullen has trouble finding the time to go until the Inquisitor puts her foot down and gives him his bathing orders. Though he grumbles at first, he quickly finds a reason to look forward to a nightly steaming.
1. Chapter 1

**Begin Act I: Clear Skies**

* * *

Cullen glanced up when someone knocked on the door frame. "Come– Oh, Inquisitor." Hastily he stood, her height always catching him at a disadvantage. "I didn't hear news of your return."

Sihaya shook her horned head. "That's probably because you were elbow deep in your paperwork again," she told him as she approached. Her hand took his chin in a no-nonsense fashion, and she tilted his head back and forth. "I talked to Cassandra. She said you didn't keep your promise. And your cheeks are hollow again." Taking the piece of paper still in his hand, she dropped it onto the table and pointed to her left. "Go. Now."

Startled, Cullen glanced up at his holey roof. "It's night-time. It won't be read–"

"I told the staff before I left to keep the gears going at night specifically for you. And that reserved time slot I made for you is still on the schedule." She crossed her arms over her chest, her scarred face pairing with an implacable air that always served to remind him that this was not a woman easily swayed. "You have a headache right now, don't try to deny it. I need you in prime condition, Commander. We have the facilities. Use them." She pointed again. "Now march. And you'd better not be back here for at least two hours."

"Inquisitor–" he began, then stopped when her eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. One did _not_ say no to Sihaya Adaar when she was in that mood. "Yes, Inquisitor. Right away."

"Two hours, Cullen." With one final glare, she turned and left the room, ducking slightly to avoid hitting her horns on the door frame. She was _tall_ , even for a Qunari, and he often felt like an elf next to her.

With a sigh, he looked at his incomplete paperwork for a moment, then noticed that simply doing so made his eyes burn. Shaking his head, he climbed to his loft and retrieved his bathing kit. For a moment he debated whether or not to bring the healing balm, then sighed and snagged it as well. Weapon practice wasn't getting any easier, especially since today had been a full armor and full headache day, which Cassandra had known perfectly well before unleashing herself upon him. _Trying to prove a point, Cass, I get it,_ he thought ruefully as he threw it all in a towel which he heaved over his shoulder before climbing back down and heading out into the night.

He nodded to the patrols on the ramparts as he walked to his destination, a previously empty tower which had been transformed after the Inquisitor had sat down for a good long talk with Dagna and Gatsi about Skyhold and the odd remnants of ancient machinery they'd found in a dusty storeroom beneath the empty tower next to the stable. Gatsi still viewed it as Skyhold's crowning achievement, and the resulting glory had been quickly dubbed the Skyhold Steam Station.

As he opened the door, the chill of the night was quickly blasted away by the moist warmth that washed over him. Though the entrance room wasn't steamy, it was definitely hotter than outside, and promised at what lay beyond the small changing rooms where the visitors to the Steam Station left their belongings in a cubby and grabbed a towel for the rest of their stay inside. After wrapping the towel around his waist and another one to hang loosely around his neck, Cullen pushed through into the dimness of the main steam room.

With a sigh, he found a bench and sagged down into it, head falling back against the wall as he just enjoyed the heat for a few moments. He wasn't sure he could last an entire two hours, no matter what Sihaya insisted - he knew his nerves at being in an enclosed space with no windows would get the better of him eventually. Still, for a short time, it _was_ relaxing. As he set his hand on the lid of the oil container, however, he realized that he'd forgotten a scraper. It was such a relief to finally sit and do nothing in a darkened room that was so blessedly _warm_ (a treat after both Haven and Skyhold) that it took a moment to force himself to his feet and advance back to the entrance.

When he collided unexpectedly with someone coming in, he instinctively reached out and caught the other person, preventing their fall through sheer reflex. "Oh! Beg pardon. I wasn't expecting anyone else."

"Evidently not," a slightly peevish voice responded, one Cullen recognized immediately. "And you seem to have developed the fascinating habit of not letting me fall on my ass, Commander. I'd thank you, if it also didn't make me feel a bit of a buffoon."

Cullen smiled as he released Dorian, not really sure what to say to that. The two men hadn't really talked much after Haven, aside from a stiff apology from both sides for their argument in the Chantry, and settling into a new routine in Skyhold had occupied most of Cullen's time. Besides, Dorian was Sihaya's first choice for a mage when she traveled, though Cullen wasn't sure if it were an act of friendship or suspicion on her part. Certainly the mask Dorian habitually wore, figuratively if not quite as literally as Orlesians did, also maintained a distance between himself and the rest of the Inquisition. "Good evening to you too, Dorian. That was entirely my fault this time. I just forgot to grab a scraper before coming in."

"Ah," Dorian said. "I forget you southerners aren't used to steam baths yet. That's easily remedied." Dorian disappeared for a moment and then reappeared, holding out the special curved stick to Cullen. "There you are. Now, you will let me join you, won't you?"

Cullen gave him a puzzled look as he took the scraper. "Why wouldn't you?"

Dorian's mouth curved upwards. "Apparently the Inquisitor thinks quite highly of you. She reserved the whole damned bath for you, at this time, in perpetuity. I can see it now." He held up his hands and moved them as if highlighting a sign on a building. _"Cullen's Bath Time._ Shall I get you a wooden ducky?"

With a laugh, Cullen shook his head. "That won't be necessary. And of course you can use the premises. It's built to hold forty people, for Maker's sake. She's just… making a point." He gestured to the benches from which he'd come. "You can tell me about Crestwood. When did you get back? Did you find Hawke's Warden friend?"

"We got back about an hour ago," Dorian told him as they sat down on the bench. While they relaxed, he spent some time regaling Cullen with a very colorful rendition of all the horrible things they'd had to do in Crestwood before they had finally sought out the cave where the Warden was hiding. "Imagine it _,_ Commander! Me! One of the Imperium's most majestic sons, slogging through the mud and muck of a long-drowned city, looking for a flooded, demon-infested cave. I had weeds on my armor, _weeds!"_ His mustache was practically quivering with indignation. "And then the Inquisitor harvested them right off of me. Spindleweeds or some such. _Honestly."_

Cullen found himself holding his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter as the man gave a surprisingly military account of the fight against the rift demons, even if the telling was full of colorful imprecations against the dubious parentage of said demons and the undead they'd fought along the way. "And then she dragged me through some sort of old dwarven ruins - damp, dark, and dirty ones, at that! And all that was before we even found the Warden! Honestly, Commander, the Inquisitor is going to be the death of me."

By that point, Cullen wasn't able to hold back his laughter. "I can see why you wanted to come here as soon as you made your report," he said with amusement as he opened the oil vase between then and dipped his hands in it to spread over his body.

"Oh, laugh while you still can. She'll get you on the field someday, I'm sure of it," Dorian warned with a waggle of his finger before he followed Cullen's lead. "My advice? Stay on her good side. Her bad side is terrifying to behold."

Cullen chuckled. "Cassandra told me much the same thing. She's bold, our Inquisitor. I generally approve, even if sometimes Josephine has to hold onto her quill with a tighter grip than other times."

Dorian laughed at that as he began to scrape the oil and dirt away. "True, she isn't the most diplomatic of leaders. She's effective though. And honestly, even if, as I suspect, she doesn't particularly like me, the Inquisitor has earned my eternal loyalty by resurrecting that old steam machine below. Amazing to think that a Vashoth would recognize such a thing."

"Didn't she say her father was an engineer for the Qunari once?" Cullen asked, scraping his own shoulder.

The conversation continued at an idle pace until both men were clean. Setting the scrapers into the bin to be cleaned, they stood. Cullen waved Dorian on ahead. "I'll be right there."

"As you say, Commander," Dorian replied, already removing his towel as he sauntered towards the next room.

By the time Cullen had retrieved his balm and joined Dorian in the soaking room, Dorian was up to his neck in cool water of the large pool, eyes closed and arms floating to either side. Setting his towel aside and putting the little bottle on it for later, Cullen eased himself in with a sigh. They _had_ been in the steam room a bit overlong due to the conversation, after all, and his skin was glowing a healthy reddish pink by this point.

"I want to thank you again, Commander," Dorian noted as Cullen got comfortable.

"For what?" Cullen asked, relishing the feel of the water on his overheated skin.

Dorian took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply. "For letting me stay, of course. What else could I possibly mean?" The water moved, and Cullen lifted his head to see Dorian submerge himself completely in the pool before standing, squeezing the water from his hair. "Where is the– Ah." Edging past Cullen, he retrieved one of the towels set aside for hair. "Pardon," he murmured, then pulled back and started drying his hair.

The comment, and the tone with which it was delivered, were so odd that Cullen wasn't quite sure how to respond. "As I said, you are welcome to use this place whenever you prefer."

He wasn't sure why the words made a subtle tension leave Dorian, but it was noticeable. "Again, you have my thanks. You're not such a bad fellow after all."

That made Cullen grin. "You're obviously not one of my troops," he told Dorian. "They generally have a different opinion, especially on the mornings I take them out on pre-dawn runs."

"Out _there?"_ Dorian asked, aghast, and visibly shuddered when Cullen nodded. "I take it all back. You are a _terrible_ man."

"I try," Cullen said with a smirk.

"Then I shall leave you to contemplate your actions," Dorian said in a mock severe voice. "I bid you good night, Commander. Hopefully you won't terrorize too many of your soldiers before we meet again."

Cullen chuckled as he let his eyes drift shut. A great sloshing told him that Dorian had removed himself from the water, with the slippy-slappy footsteps following the man around the room as he retrieved his towel and began to dry off. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," Cullen told him.

Dorian simply snorted after that sally. "At least I'll _have_ my breath, Commander. I certainly don't intend on letting you steal it away."

"I hardly think that will be a concern between us." Cullen couldn't believe how relaxed he felt. His headache had gone, lifted away somewhere with all the steam, and the company, though unexpected, had proven quite enjoyable. At least Dorian wasn't likely to snap his heels and salute, give him orders, or treat him warily because of his past or his present. The man's boldness had proven oddly refreshing. Cullen hadn't had many friends, particularly since the Blight, and he'd almost forgotten what is was like to enjoy the company of another. "Though I wouldn't mind stealing your company now and again."

"Oh?" Dorian asked, that one syllable at once both wary and curious, enough to make Cullen look up with a furrowed brow. "In what manner, exactly?"

Unsure of the reason behind the obvious reluctance, Cullen gave a little shrug. "It simply occurs to me that there aren't that many in Skyhold outside my chain of command that I could talk to like this," Cullen explained. "Say what you will, your description of fighting the demons was more than entertaining, it was _intelligent._ Given the reports I have to slog through every day, it made me wish you were writing them instead of Jim and, well, the other Jim."

Dorian's shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled. "I'm glad you find me so _enthralling_ , Commander. And I'm… flattered, actually. There aren't many who would choose to spend time with someone such as I."

Cullen thought about it for a moment, and suddenly a lot of little hints and clues dropped into place about Dorian's odd little reactions. "I take it you are not finding a great deal of enthusiasm to your presence here?" he asked.

"Oh, now, whatever gave you that impression?" Dorian asked with a light laugh, and Cullen realized that his mask was firmly in place again. "An apostate mage from the Tevinter Imperium? And a magister at that? Never mind the fact I am not a magister, or that my arrival at Haven was–" Dorian stopped, then abruptly smiled at Cullen, though his eyes remained dull. "Does it matter? I'm not here to win some sort of contest for popularity, Commander. The Venatori simply have a great deal for which to answer. However," Dorian mused, as if it were an afterthought, "if your offer is still on the table, I would be inclined to accept it. For your sake, of course. I would feel absolutely wretched if a man of your caliber had no one with which to spend convivial time."

"Of course," Cullen replied, mouth widening in a grin. "How very gracious of you."

"I am nothing if not the epitome of grace," Dorian said with a little bow.

"I have no doubt," Cullen replied. "Which begs the question… do you play chess? The gardeners uncovered an old but still serviceable chess table in the gardens while you were gone. And before you ask, I do happen to have a set of chess pieces."

Dorian laughed, the sound _almost_ genuine, now that Cullen was more attuned to his mannerisms. _"Happen to have a set._ Yes, because that is obviously the first thing anyone grabs before fleeing a doomed village when a massive army of Venatori invade." A chuckle lingered as Dorian turned back to the sheet of metal on the wall that served as a mirror in the cooling room.

Cullen frowned as something about the man's back caught his attention, and pulled himself from the water without much forethought. Grabbing his ointment and towel, the latter to wrap around his waist, he walked to Dorian. When the man turned to face him, the wariness had returned to his face, but Cullen just made a circling gesture. "No, turn back around. Let me see that."

"Ah. I forgot the lighting is better in here. I had hoped it would go unremarked," Dorian sighed, though he obediently turned around.

Drying his hands quickly, Cullen lightly touched Dorian's back around the edges of the large blotch he found. "What is this? What happened?"

"Those rage demons I mentioned, naturally," the man replied with a nonchalant air. "I'm too pretty to die, but not, apparently, to burn. The Inquisitor was of tremendous aid, but… well. It looks much better than it did last week. I'm resigned to being rather unpresentable and grumpy until it heals completely, of course."

Cullen frowned, then gestured to one of the benches used for those waiting for a chance at the pool when the Steam Station was more crowded. "Sit down."

For a moment Dorian hesitated, then finally nodded and moved to the indicated bench. "As you wish. I'm not sure what you intend to do, however," he said in a somewhat peevish tone as he took his seat.

Cullen settled in behind him, prying open the bottle and pouring a small amount on his hands. After a couple of rubs to spread it across his fingers, he said, "This will sting, then grow cold, but it will help. I promise."

Dorian's nostrils flared as Cullen leaned forward, gauging where best to apply the balm. "Is that… lyrium?"

Distracted by the task at hand, Cullen nodded. "And elfroot. And a little bit of arbor blessing, prophet's laurel… It's… a bit of a hodge podge, actually. And then there's the spell that binds it together." Gently he began to work the liquid into Dorian's wound, starting at the top. He chuckled softly when the man hissed. "Sorry about that. It stings at first, especially on burn wounds. Still, I don't know of anything better for helping wounds, particularly those inflicted by demons and magic."

"Ah, so it's made specifically for Templars, then?" Dorian surmised. "Southern Templars, I should say. The northern ones are too reliant upon the Magisters to dare craft such a thing openly."

Cullen's brows raised at the comment, but he nodded. "Aye. It is something I have sorely missed since leaving the order, so I had Leliana, ah, _acquire_ some for me once the Inquisitor conscripted the remaining Templars." His tone still held a note of bitterness about that decision, but it wasn't his place to do more than voice his opinion - which he had, with strength. "Who knows if any more can be made when the current supplies are used up?"

Dorian's head turned at that, looking over his shoulder as best as he could to look at Cullen, though the latter's attention was mainly taken up with applying the balm with the least amount of pain inflicted as possible. "So there is a limited supply, then?"

"Very. On a bad day, I will use it on my muscles" _and head_ "but obviously your wound should take precedence. After all, who knows when the Inquisitor will take you out again?"

"Who, indeed?" Dorian fell silent after that, though when Cullen moved away, he turned himself around on the bench. "So that's it? One treatment?"

Cullen considered the extent of the wound. "Possibly one more. I'd have to see it in a couple of days to know better. Don't sleep on your back tonight, or in any clothing, but do cover up with a light sheet. No pressure, but covered is the key."

Dorian's mouth opened, then closed again as he bowed his head. When he looked up at Cullen, a small smile was on his lips, but more importantly, the warmth of humor in his previously dull grey eyes. "So now I have to see you again. Clever, Commander."

For a moment, Cullen just looked at him, blinking, then laughed. The comment distracted him from the urge to rub the stuff under his nose just so he could smell the lyrium, though. "A thank you wouldn't be amiss, but no, that isn't why I helped you." He sealed the bottle carefully, not wasting a single drop, and looked up at Dorian with a relaxed smile. "The Inquisition needs us at our best."

The warmth drained from Dorian's eyes, and the little smile was replaced so quickly by a larger one and a laugh so _real_ that Cullen had to look in Dorian's eyes to see the lie. "So pragmatic, Commander! And here I thought for a moment you might actually enjoy my company!"

Cullen allowed a hint of his exasperation to show through as he said, "I thought I had already told you that I do enjoy it. Now, what would be a good time for that first chess match tomorrow?" Instinctively he knew that if he gave Dorian the chance to back out of it, the man would with an elegant bow and a smile. _Not a chance. I will not let another endure the echo of loneliness as I did for so long._ "Perhaps following the midday meal?"

Dorian seemed a bit taken aback by how neatly Cullen had turned it around, but then he just nodded. "Ah, yes, that would be most delightful. Where is this chess table again?"

As Cullen told him, he stood and clapped his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "And don't think you can avoid it, either," he added before moving back to the water, tugging the towel from his waist and leaning over to drop both towel and balm to the ground before easing into the water again. When there was no response, he looked to Dorian. "Is that understood?"

Shaking his head as if snapping out of a trance, the man nodded and rose to his feet, giving Cullen an elegant bow only slightly marred by the fact that his towel began to fall away from his waist. "Oh so _very_ clear," the man said, gracefully catching the towel before his dignity was compromised. "I won't abandon you, fear you not."

Cullen chuckled and leaned his head back. "See you then, Dorian. I look forward to it."

He heard Dorian gather his belongings. "Enjoy your last few hours of not knowing the agony of being defeated by a Master of the game."

"Odd, I thought that was my line," Cullen quipped with a grin.

"Such sass, Commander! We'll see how it survives tomorrow's trouncing," Dorian replied, sounding more like his old self once more.

With a wave of his hand, Cullen said, "Mine will. Yours? We'll see."

Dorian just chuckled, but didn't say anything more before he left the room, leaving Cullen to enjoy the quiet for a few moments.

A quiet that, oddly enough, now seemed empty rather than a welcome calm from the chaos that was his normal day. Though he'd been intending to stay longer, Cullen found himself back in his office before too long, and was astonished to find that much more than two hours had passed.

With a smile on his face, he began to dig through his chest for the bag of chess pieces. _Time to see if all that practice with Mia will pay off._


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen sagged onto the bench, groaning as he reached up and worked at his temples with his hands. Today had been a particularly bad day, enough that even Cassandra had eased up during their daily bout. The horn blowing to announce the Inquisitor's return from the Western Approach had been the final straw which had made him give up on pretending to do paperwork, and a further half hour of staring at his lyrium kit had been enough to foul his mood even further. After Jim had tried to deliver a message, he'd just snapped at the poor man and stalked to the Steam Station, expression dark enough that the patrols saluted hastily as they danced out of his way.

All Cullen knew is that he was desperate. No matter how Cassandra kept assuring him that this, too, would pass and he would be the better for giving it up, Cullen couldn't help but wonder if maybe just one little _taste_ would be enough… and knew at the same time, deep down, that one little taste would be far _too_ much.

"So apparently, there is a bear stalking the ramparts of Skyhold," a cheerful voice said from the entrance to the steam room. Cullen's eyes popped open to see Dorian leaning against the door frame, a smirk on his face. "A bear with a lion's mane, or so speaks rumor."

"Oh, shut up," Cullen growled, scowl deepening as Dorian just laughed at the rejoinder.

"What? No _'I'm glad to see you, Dorian?'_ Or _'I've missed our chess matches, Dorian'?_ Or possibly even a _'Where have you been all my life, you handsome mage you'?"_ With a chuckle, Dorian pushed away from the doorframe and started walking towards Cullen, though a limp marred his gait. "And here I was looking forward to telling you about the Inquisitor's most recent triumph."

Cullen's sarcastic reply died on his lips as he rose to his feet. "What did she do to you this time?" he demanded as he crossed the room and wrapped Dorian's arm around his shoulders to help him to the bench.

Dorian hissed as Cullen helped him sit down, rubbing at an evident bruise on his leg. "Ah, you got the sex correct, but not the specific individual. Although I do suspect it to be some sort of courting ritual between the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull, judging from his reaction. Ah, thank you," he added as Cullen pulled over one of the sitting stools and propped Dorian's leg on it. "That is quite kind of you."

Cullen sat next to him and peered at his leg, then sighed. "What _happened,_ Dorian?"

"A dragon, Commander. Specifically, a very High one." As Cullen took stock of the remainder of Dorian's injuries, the man gave him a blow by blow description of the encounter with the Abyssal High Dragon, including a rather scathing commentary on the man who'd enabled them to do so. "I knew I couldn't trust Orlesians," Dorian muttered at the end of his tirade. "It's those masks of theirs. You can't trust a man if you can't see his face."

"Considering you're a man who wears his face as a mask, I'm surprised to hear such a sentiment," Cullen said as he carefully picked up Dorian's leg and sat on the stool, then put the leg in his lap and began to knead the muscles in the calf, slowly working his way upwards.

Dorian stiffened. "Commander, what-?"

Though he spared a glance upward, Cullen's eyes quickly returned to his work. The sight of the fading bruises and healing scratches on that normally flawless face simply made him angry. "You've been walking and riding with that limp for so long, your muscles have stiffened. Why didn't she heal you? Or let you rest and recover?"

"She's a Knight Enchanter, not a Spirit Healer," Dorian sighed in exasperation. "And Bull always gets the reddies first. We…" He stopped and hissed as Cullen's fingers dug deep, though he didn't complain when Cullen retrieved some oil and continued to work. "We really weren't ready for that battle. Poor Cole," he added. "Three times he fell, and I had to bring him back each time because the Inquisitor–" Stopping abruptly, he made a soft noise of frustration, then continued. "I was holding my own until her tail swept me into the ruin. That was a bit more difficult from which to recover. We were all in pretty bad shape, sadly. The Inquisitor _did_ make sure all the broken bones were set and healed as far as potions could take them before we set out, though."

Cullen looked up at him, then beetled his brows. "Where–"

Dorian shrugged his shoulder. "This arm." Cullen saw the bruising around the bicep, a dark ring which encompassed most of the mage's surprisingly strong bicep. "More a mild fracture than a break by this point. Cole…" He grimaced. "Well, at least she apologized to him. And, if I'm going to break character and actually be truthful for once, she _did_ tend to him a great deal on the way back."

"But not to you," Cullen said softly.

"Hmm, no. I wasn't the one with the broken leg, however," Dorian pointed out. "Besides, I knew I had– ah, the Steam Station waiting to relax in. I daresay we'll be here at Skyhold a while."

"Good. You need some time to recover." Cullen glanced up at Dorian, a sudden thought making him grin. "So I'm stuck with you while you're grumpy, is that it?" Before Dorian could answer one way or another, he maneuvered off the stool and set Dorian's leg down. "Let the heat work on you a bit. We'll alternate hot and cold, and end with that special ointment. You're quite badly banged up, my friend."

"Tell me something I do not already know, and I'll give you a prize," Dorian groaned, then sagged onto the bench as Cullen sat next to him once more. "Oh, and before the Inquisitor offered us up as High Dragon chew toys, we did finally find them. Hawke and the Warden, I mean. We also had a bit of a fisticuffs with a Venatori bootlicker who could _charitably_ be called a tool. And it would still be an insult to tools throughout Thedas." He grimaced as he shifted position. "Would you be a dear and get me some water?"

Cullen nodded and stood, returning with a sweating pitcher and two glasses. "The fizzy kind you like so much," he noted as he poured some and handed it to the man. "I'm still trying to understand _why_ you like it, though."

"Because no one else does, obviously," Dorian countered. "Otherwise how can I maintain my reputation as the most despised man in Skyhold?"

"Dorian…" Cullen sighed.

"Come, come, we both know it's true." Dorian held up his glass, waiting for Cullen to click his own against it before taking a sip. As Cullen drank, the mage added, "And you're the most popular, if all those young ladies who wait about in the courtyard to watch your morning sword practice are any indication."

Cullen choked, spraying the water into the steam room. His coughing abated after a few healthy slaps on the back from Dorian, whose chortling hadn't ceased by the time Cullen regained his breath. "Wha– I– Those are _recruits_ , Dorian, not… I mean… Maker, they're not–"

"Not ogling those strapping muscles of yours when they're on display? Oh, come, Commander, why shouldn't they admire such talented blade work?" Dorian asked in a teasing tone, eyes dancing with mischief.

"Maker's Breath. Is this what you're like when you're in pain?" Cullen demanded, hoping that the dim light would hide the darkening on his cheeks. "Never mind. What happened with Hawke and the Warden?"

"An argument. Not so very surprising, given the nature of our Inquisitor. Oh, you mean with the tool?" Dorian snorted. "It went about as badly for the Venatori as you would expect, but there's still quite bad news: the Grey Wardens are using blood magic and demon possession to raise an army. The poor fools were told that it's so they can invade the Deep Roads and pre-emptively kill the archdemon or some such nonsense." A sad note entered Dorian's tone. "Corypheus will use them just like he's used everyone, and that army will only be turned against his own enemies. Warden Alistair was quite upset, as you might imagine, but Hawke threw an absolute–"

"Wait, who?" Cullen asked, interrupting. "The Warden, I mean."

"Oh, yes. Alistair. You know, the fellow from the Fifth Blight. Not a bad chap, if a bit careworn by recent events." He looked thoughtful. "Surely I told you his name before. I could have sworn."

"No. Nor did the Inquisitor. It never occurred to me it would be him, not in Orlais." Cullen exhaled softly, then gave a soft, open-mouthed laugh. "We trained together for a while. He never took his vows, of course. The Wardens claimed him. Hopefully his swordwork has improved since then," he added with a chuckle.

Dorian leaned his head back against the wall, a smile spreading on his face. "Oh, _please_ tell me that means more than simply his skill with a length of _metal_. I could use some cheering up."

 _"Dorian,"_ Cullen groaned, burying his face in his hands.

"Ah, _ha!"_ Dorian exclaimed, practically chortling with glee. "I knew it! There's no way you could be as innocent as all the rumors claimed."

Cullen snorted, laughing himself by now, and let his hands fall away so he could give Dorian an amused look. "Rumors of– This is ridiculous. Does Skyhold have no other topic of conversation?"

"And again, no denial!" Dorian pointed out with a wagging finger. "I am on to you, Commander. I'll be _watching._ _"_ He let that hang between them for a moment before smirking and closing his eyes. "For what specifically, I'm not sure, but I'm sure at some point even you will do _something_ interesting."

"Oh, for– I am not that boring!" Cullen protested. "That's it, no more wins for you!"

"Oh? And here I thought I had been the one to graciously let _you_ win _any,"_ Dorian said airily, and directly contrary to the facts.

"Sounds like someone needs a _reminder."_ Cullen prodded him in the side, making Dorian wince. "Come on, let's get you in the cool room. Two or three times back and forth, some more massage, then the balm, like I said. You'll feel better in the morning."

"I hope you're right," Dorian groaned as he let Cullen help him up, the breathed _"Kaffas"_ under his breath as his towel fluttered to his feet. "Grab that, would you? My dignity is imperiled enough as it is with me hobbling about like an old man, much less a _naked_ old man."

Cullen laughed as he retrieved Dorian's towel and reached around him to set it back in its place. "There. You're going to be in the water soon, anyway, so I can't imagine it's a problem."

Dorian laughed, an oddly breathless little chuckle which faded quickly as the mask dropped into place and the careless smile emerged. "Let's go. You can tell me all sorts of embarrassing stories about Warden Alistair in his youth just in case I should ever need them. I believe they're coming here to Skyhold, both of them."

"Oh? Should be interesting." Cullen wrapped Dorian's arm around his neck, supporting him. "Now come on, old man, it's the cold bath for you."

"Watch your tongue!" Dorian protested as they moved to the door.

"Can't, I'm afraid," Cullen replied with a grin. "Eyes aren't built for it."

"Then I'll just have to watch it for you," Dorian declared.

Cullen laughed as he opened the door. "I'd like to see you try." And, somehow, somewhere in all that, his own headache had disappeared as well.


	3. Chapter 3

_Another damned invitation._

Cullen frowned as he skimmed the note without really reading it. Instead, he held it out over the candle on his desk, watching it burn down to his fingers with satisfaction. "Maker, I wish they'd just _stop."_

"Secret admirers, Commander?" a sardonic voice asked from the doorway, amusement in his tone.

Scowling at the man leaning against the frame of his office door with a smug smirk below his impeccably curled mustache, Cullen said, "You be quiet."

"And not speak of the rumors racing through Skyhold of the endless cavalcade of letters from Orlais which now land upon your desk? You're no fun if you expect me to actually remain silent on the matter," Dorian said with a laugh, the _public mask_ of Dorian very much in evidence. "However, you _are_ overdue for your reserved time slot at the Steam Station, and I would hate for that grimace you're sporting to become permanent." Stepping into the room, he stopped near Cullen's desk and smirked at the pile of letters still awaiting Cullen's attention. Before Cullen could stop him, he reached out and grabbed them, then headed to the door. "Hurry up, Commander. The Inquisitor needs you in prime condition, remember?"

Cullen's scowl didn't relent one whit, but he had to admit that at the moment he had not only a raging headache but shoulder muscles tight enough to bounce coins off of with ease. With a sigh, he climbed the ladder, grabbed his bathing kit, and then quickly made his way to Steam Station.

He found Dorian already inside, of course, looking through the letters he'd absconded with earlier. "Oh, Maker, please tell me you're not reading them," Cullen groaned as he moved to sit next to Dorian.

Dorian quickly gestured him to the stool in front of him. "Sit," he commanded, then held out the letters to Cullen. "I think you should read these, honestly. Most of them are so Orlesian, I expect the paper to faint out of your hands. Try to find humor in the situation, Commander, and you'll have quite a lot of fun, I promise you." He smirked. "And lower shoulders."

Taking the letters reluctantly, Cullen frowned down at them, then looked up at Dorian. "And why am I sitting down here, pray tell?" he asked.

"Oh, I want to watch your face, of course. Seeing you so disgruntled is of prime entertainment value to me." Dorian reached up and teased his wilting mustache into place. "Now, please proceed."

Cullen blinked. "You want me to read them _out loud?"_

"Naturally. How else will I truly understand the extent of your humiliation unless we both know what the letters say?" he asked in an overly patient tone of voice, then gestured impatiently. "Come, come, I'm most eager to hear from your Orlesian lovers."

"They are _not_ my–" Cullen began hotly.

"Oh, I heard of a few well-placed _fondles,_ Commander. The next best thing, hmm?"

Cullen couldn't help but grin at that. "You're a terrible man," he accused the mage as he pulled the first letter out from the envelope. "Well, all bets are off if they're in Orlesian," he warned Dorian.

"Oh, don't worry, I speak Orlesian. We can still have fun," Dorian told him with aplomb. "Go on, I'm all ears."

With a sigh, Cullen looked down at the piece of paper, holding it up close to his face so he could make out the words. _"My dear Commander,"_ he began. _"Your presence at an otherwise dreary ball–"_ He stopped, frowning. "Dreary?" he demanded. "The Inquisitor selected a new Emperor! How on Thedas does that qualify as–" He stopped with a gasp as Dorian leaned forward and settled his hands on Cullen's shoulders, kneading them gently. "Wha– what are you doing?" he asked.

"Your shoulders are _far_ too high, Commander. The last I recall, they didn't touch your ears," Dorian pointed out. "At least they didn't when you wore that tragic abomination of a formal uniform foisted on us for the ball."

Cullen's eyelids had drifted down as Dorian continued the massage. It was an odd combination of pain and pleasure, given how very tight his muscles were, but he could tell that he desperately needed it. Dorian obviously was quite skilled, and the longer he worked, the better it felt as the tension eased. "You have an Age to stop doing that," he murmured.

"Don't tempt me," Dorian chuckled, then cleared his throat. "But come, come, you're not holding up your end of the bargain. I demand amusement, Commander. Now, I believe your eyes still work, do they not?"

"Mmm, yes," he replied, then shook his head and brought the letter up. "Where was I? Oh yes. _Your presence at an otherwise dreary ball proved to be quite a spark to–"_ His eyes widened, and he folded the letter and shoved it back into its envelope.

"Why, Commander, is that a _blush_ upon your cheeks?" Dorian asked with a chuckle.

"She credits me with enhancing her… ah, her _time alone,"_ he said, and cleared his throat as he quickly shoved that one to the back of the pile and pulled the next one from its envelope.

Dorian had to bow his head as he shook with silent laughter, but his fingers kept digging into Cullen's shoulders with a soothing strength. Finally the man raised his head, a wicked smile on his face. "Oh, that is _rich._ I suppose she then asked for some, ah, _personal assistance_ with said _time alone?"_

Cullen grunted as he nodded. "And they've _all_ been like that. Do Orlesians have no shame?"

"There, there," Dorian said in a too-soothing tone. "I'm sure they didn't know what a delicate little flower you are."

"I am _no_ delicate flower," Cullen growled.

"Ah, forgive me. That hint of rose on your cheeks deceived me, then," Dorian teased, chuckling when Cullen glared up at him. "Oh, put those daggers in your eyes away, Commander, and continue to read. Until you can laugh at the words on those pages, I shan't accept that you have found humor in the whole affair." One of his hands moved to dip into the oil, and he rubbed his hands together. "Now, your shoulders are already improved. I daresay that headache you walked in with is also a bit more distant, hmm?"

With a blink, Cullen realized that Dorian was correct: his headache _had_ dimmed. With a sigh, he looked at the next letter. "I see how it is. I read the letters to you, and you help my headache go away. Have I told you that you're a terrible man yet?"

"Why, I believe you have - a fair number of times, as a matter of fact," Dorian replied without a hint of repentance. "Now, continue, if you please."

Cullen sighed and let his eyes drop to the paper once more. As he read, those fingers moved over his shoulders and upper arms, chasing away the bone-deep tension of the weeks since Halamshiral and the day the Inquisitor had changed politics on the face of Thedas. Gaspard was grateful, of course, but could a powerful man be expected to remain grateful, especially if the Inquisition later did something of which he disapproved? _Well, I suppose that will be Josephine's headache. As long as they don't expect me to lay siege to Val Royeaux._

The letters started to merge together after the third or fourth, since they all contained the same type of _Orlesianness_. As Dorian's fingers continued to work their magic, he did, in fact, relax and learn to laugh at the absurdity of it. By the time he reached the penultimate letter, his headache was gone and he was laughing even before he'd pulled it out of the envelope. "So, what's your bet? Invitation to a… what did you call them?" he asked, glancing up at the mage.

 _"Ménage à trois?"_ Dorian asked with raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Cullen said with a chuckle. "So, that or… hmm, secret rendezvous at the Cathedral? That was my favorite. Blasphemy and pleasure all in one encounter." Nudging Dorian's arm with his elbow, he said, "So which is it?"

Dorian hummed, pretending to consider the matter. "Well, considering you're an ex-Templar, I'll go with secret rendezvous at the Cathedral. There's no Divine to glare at you disapprovingly anyway."

"An _excellent_ point." He held up the letter. _"My dear Commander,_ \- honestly, do none of them know my name? _\- your decorum and wit–"_

 _"Wit?"_ Dorian asked, then burst out laughing. "You stammered almost any time someone addressed you!"

"Oh, hush," Cullen growled, then continued, _"–was the highlight of the dreary Masquerade–_ Oh, Maker's breath, is that the _en vogue_ word in Orlais? That's the fifth letter to call it dreary. _–for this poor lonely old woman. Please come to my estate so we can discuss a suitable mutual arrangement. Signed…"_ Cullen blinked. "Oh, I hope Josephine never gets a hold of this."

"Oh?" Dorian leaned over, trying to peer over the piece of paper to see the signature, but Cullen pulled it back with a grin. "I'm disappointed we were both wrong, but now I am afire with curiosity. Who could get such a reaction from you, hmm?"

Cullen chuckled. "The Dowager. She of the nine husbands."

The mage's eyes widened, and his lips spread into an almost unholy smirk. "No!"

"Oh, yes. Look," he said, turning the paper around, "she even drew a little heart inside the _D."_

"You do realize," Dorian said with mock seriousness, "that I am going to forever call you the Dowager's tenth husband now, don't you?"

"Oh, please don't," Cullen groaned as he folded the letter and tucked it to the other side of the pile. "At least not where anyone can hear. Actually, no, never call me that."

"Then perhaps we need to find something else for me to call you. I'm open to suggestions, Commander," Dorian chuckled as he reached back to get some more oil.

Cullen snorted. "Commander works just fine," he quipped, then held up the last envelope and waved it in the air. "Last one."

Dorian sighed. "And it's going to be such a pathetic little denouement, you realize. Who could… _top_ the Dowager? Aside from you, that is?" His eyelid dropped in a slow wink as Cullen groaned theatrically, and then he gestured Cullen to lean closer to him. "Lean in, I want to work on your neck now that the rest is loosened up."

Trusting Dorian's judgment on massage implicitly by this point, Cullen obeyed without question and worked the last letter out of the envelope as Dorian's fingers settled on the nape of his neck. For a moment he just let his head roll forward and to the sides as Dorian silently dictated with the pressure of his hands. "You have _another_ Age to stop doing that," he mumbled.

"I might need it to deal with all this tension," Dorian said in a sardonic tone. "Honestly, do you _sleep_ on your head? It's the only way I can explain the condition of your neck muscles. No wonder you have a headache every time I see you."

Cullen didn't reply, letting Dorian believe it was from the pleasure of the massage. He knew precisely why his neck was so tight and his headaches so severe, and it was the _lack_ of something causing it. _Why don't I just throw it away?_ he asked himself for the thousandth time, and for the thousandth time, he knew he would not. Not… yet.

"I'm not working you into a stupor, am I? I'm not relishing the notion of dragging you to the cooling off pool," Dorian scolded him in a tone of voice Cullen now recognized as _I'm worried about you._

"No, just… enjoying it." Clearing his throat, he raised the letter and blinked a few times to unblur the writing. The combination of the heat and his newfound relaxation were enough to make him surprisingly lethargic. _"My dear Cullen–_ Oh, how nice, one of them remembered my name."

"Hmm, so perhaps not such a terrible finale after all," Dorian said with a chuckle as his fingers began to stroke through Cullen's hair, following the lines of the thick neck tendons up. "Oh, do go on. I've nearly got you where I want you. Just don't tense up."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Cullen smiled and returned his focus to the letter. _"Your presence at that tedious event in Halamshiral turned a rather boring and predictable evening into one of unparalleled enjoyment.–_ And the dance wasn't 'dreary'," Cullen noted. "I like this one already." Clearing his throat, he continued reading, _"Should you ever find yourself in the mood to dance again, I would be most honored to be in your arms once more."_ Cullen frowned. "That's… odd. It's unsigned, and the only person I danced with was–"

The final word died on his lips, and for a moment, he was only aware of the fingers working their way along his scalp, gently chasing away the last points of pain. An odd prickling sensation swept over him as he stared at the elegant handwriting in front of his nose, realizing that he knew those distinctive loops and swirls, knew they had been set by a hand skilled in far more than writing. Slowly he raised his gaze, letting what he had become so familiar with over the last few weeks and months be seen anew instead of embracing his barracks mentality of _it's just another soldier_.

His eyes swept over the expanse of Dorian's chest where the muscles flexed with the man's movements as he continued with his self-appointed task. Beads of sweat and water had formed a sheen of moisture that covered the man, and as Cullen watched, a single drop worked its way down Dorian's chest to his left nipple. For a moment it hung there, long enough that Cullen realized he was biting his lower lip at the sight of it, and then it fell away, down and out of sight.

After another moment and a deep breath, he raised his head some more, taking in the line of Dorian's neck, the strength of his jaw, the lush curve of his lips. The man's hands shifted, cradling the nape of Cullen's neck as their eyes met, and a hundred little smiles and chuckles and glances swelled and merged in Cullen's mind before receding once more. For a moment, Cullen simply stared at Dorian, looking for something to say and failing utterly. At last, he managed, "The only person I danced with was you."

"Fancy that," Dorian murmured. "And here I thought you were the popular one."

"Dorian–" Cullen began, then stopped when the mage pressed a finger to his lips.

"Commander," the mage said softly. "First let me say I didn't expect this. Your friendship is my most cherished treasure in this place, and without it…" He took a swift breath, and just as quickly exhaled. "We both know the Inquisitor only takes me with her so she can keep an eye on me at all times. The only place I've ever felt free to be myself is here. With you. And you… let me. No matter what you say next, I thank you for that. I can never repay you for your kindness to a villainous Tevinter mage, I just… want you to know that."

Cullen nodded, then tried to speak once more. "Dorian–" The finger didn't relent, however, so he lapsed back into silence.

Dorian's eyes closed, and his chin dipped down. "I know you are a friend, the dearest of friends, and so I thought it best to… tell you." His eyes darted up to meet Cullen's. "Should you… ever need a dance partner, that is."

Reaching up, Cullen gently took Dorian's wrist and pulled that hushing finger away from his mouth. "Dorian," he repeated for the third time, "I'm slow. I'm not _blind."_

"I was starting to wonder," Dorian said, a curl of his mustache twitching along with one corner of his mouth.

"But I _am_ slow," Cullen repeated. "And I'm struggling with– There are–" He stopped and sighed, not at all sure how to say what he felt. His life had become one which lacked any fundamental connections to another person, and the Inquisitor's insistence on Cullen running the Inquisition forces as a well-oiled machine had only enhanced that tendency. The blasting of his mind and soul in the Fade during the Blight had never truly healed, just scabbed over, and that meant _any_ emotions were… dangerous. "There are reasons I can't say _yes_ right now. And none of them are because of you, I promise. But I'm… not saying _no,_ either."

Dorian's eyes closed for a moment, and he took a deep breath through his nose before letting it out through his mouth as his head fell back against the wall. "I… I think I prefer that, actually." Suddenly his eyes popped open and he looked at Cullen. "You _will_ still let me let you beat me at chess, surely."

Cullen smiled, then let the smile grow into a silent laugh. _No, Dorian, I'm not going anywhere,_ he answered the silent question even as he replied, "I think you need to be reminded that you don't have to _let_ me beat you."

With a casual flip of his hand, Dorian snorted. "You just keep telling yourself that, Commander. One day I won't let you."

Raising an eyebrow, Cullen tilted his head and said, "And maybe one day I _will_ let you."

The words hung in the steamy air between them, and then Dorian smiled - the first truly genuine smile Cullen had ever seen on his face. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that the mask - Dorian's first and last barrier, the one he'd never taken down no matter how many times they laughed together - was gone.

The mage stood and offered his hand to Cullen, who took it easily and let himself be pulled to his feet. "This seems like the perfect moment to think about cooling down, wouldn't you say?" Dorian murmured.

"I agree. There's always a next time, after all," Cullen pointed out.

"Not in my experience," Dorian said quietly.

Cullen squeezed the hand still clasped in his. "Sounds to me like you need some new ones, then."

"Are you volunteering, Commander?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought I already had." Cullen moved to the door, tugging Dorian along. "Come. Let us begin."

* * *

 **End Act I: Clear Skies**


	4. Chapter 4

**Begin Act II: The Storm Approaches**

* * *

The sound of the horns heralding the return of the Inquisitor caught Cullen by surprise. Reflexively, he glanced up from his papers to the hole in his ceiling, confirming noon had not yet arrived. With a frown, he set his pen down and stood, moving to the door with a decisive step. He winced as he opened the door, the bright sun adding just that extra edge to the headache which had plagued him all day. Still, he needed to talk to the Inquisitor, and she had proven oddly difficult to pin down in recent weeks.

As he descended the stairs to the courtyard, however, he heard the sound of raised voices. When he realized it was the Inquisitor and Dorian, he took the steps two at a time, hoping to head off an argument.

"You could have _told_ me!" Dorian was saying in a heated voice. "It's not like you dragged me off to the local tavern. It took us _days_ to get to Redcliffe. Surely at some point it might have occurred to you to give me some detail. As it is-"

"As it is," the Inquisitor interrupted in an impatient voice, "it was a complete waste of time. And of course I didn't tell you - how was I to know it wasn't some convoluted Vint plot? I don't know what I would have preferred, you turning out to be a Venatori all along, or having to listen to you snivel all the way back to Skyhold."

Cullen's eyes were on Dorian as the Inquisitor spoke, and his heart ached when the fire left Dorian's expression. Several emotions danced across the man's face as Dorian moved through anger to shock to confusion to hurt, before finally settling on a familiar expression: the supercilious sneer which Dorian used when he hurt the most. "I am so sorry to have wasted your valuable time, Inquisitor. When next I interrupt your life, I'll make sure to arrange my personal crises around your schedule and with advance notice."

"This wasn't even a crisis," Sihaya said, dismissing Dorian's words with a gesture and a snort. "I wasted a week of my time so you could get lectured by your father for being a bad boy because you prefer fucking men. He made a huge deal out of nothing, just like _you_ always do." She stepped forward, pointing her finger directly at Dorian's face, her height giving her an easy advantage over him. "Don't let this happen again."

An awkward silence fell as everyone in earshot - even the Iron Bull, standing as he always did at the Inquisitor's side - fell silent, looking everywhere but at Dorian and the Inquisitor. Finally, Dorian lifted his chin, and when he spoke, his tone could have frosted glass. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to drink myself into a stupor. It's been that sort of day."

"Fine," Sihaya said shortly. "Just be ready to leave when I head out to get some _real_ work done."

As Dorian stalked off to the _Herald's Rest,_ Cullen heard Bull say quietly, "A bit harsh, don't you think, Boss?"

"Maybe he'll actually get the message this time," she said with a sniff. "I'm still not convinced he's not a-" She paused when she noticed Cullen approaching, and turned to him with a less severe expression than the one she'd worn for Dorian - at least, until her eyes swept over his face. With a small frown, she took his chin in her grasp and turned his head from side to side. "You don't look like you're taking care of yourself."

"I'll be fine, Inquisitor," Cullen said stiffly as he pulled his head from her hand, still seething at her treatment of Dorian. "I also think that-"

Her sharp gesture cut him off. "I need you completely healthy, Commander. I'll go talk with Cassandra, but if I don't see improvement, and soon, you and I will have to have another _talk._ Understood?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," he said in clipped tones. "But if I could-"

"Dismissed, Commander." Turning to the Iron Bull, she said, "Check in with Morris and see if our special supplies arrived, then come to my quarters."

Bull nodded. "You got it, Boss." As Sihaya strode up to the main hall, however, he didn't move towards the Quartermaster's office. Keeping his eye on the Inquisitor, he stepped closer to Cullen and murmured, "You know, for someone who sleeps with a self-proclaimed Qunari spy, you'd think she'd lay off of the Vint a little."

Cullen grated his teeth as he replied, "That would be more fair." After a moment, when he could speak without hurting his jaw, he asked, "Is she always like this to him?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Bull gave Cullen a thoughtful look. "One of the problems is that she has trouble seeing people as people. She thinks in terms of identity, and makes a lot of snap judgments, but her instincts are usually good. The Vints, though... They're the exception."

Turning to face the large Qunari, Cullen looked up at him with a frown. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying be careful. She has her favorites, and she'll treat them well. But I don't think she can be _fair_ when it comes to the Vint." Bull laid his hand on Cullen's shoulder, his voice growing quiet. "Go back to your office. I'll bully him out of the tavern and send him your way."

"Why do you care?" Cullen demanded, then winced. "I'm sorry. That came out harsher than I intended."

Bull glanced at the _Herald's Rest._ "Let's just say we have a lot in common and leave it at that for now, all right?"

For a long moment, Cullen searched Bull's face, wondering what the Qunari served to gain from the situation. Finally he sighed and nodded. "I'll be over in ten minutes if Dorian doesn't come to my office," he warned Bull.

With a grin, Bull tipped his head forward. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Once Cullen had returned to his office, he couldn't remain in his seat. Oh, he _tried,_ but every time he sat down and looked at the papers on his desk, restlessness drove him to his feet again. The anger had shifted from burning his ears to simmering deep within, but it lingered longer than was normal for him.

As his mental arguments with the Inquisitor began to repeat for the fourth or fifth time, an erratic knock sounded at the door. Striding to open it, Cullen found Dorian already turning away, and reached out to pull him inside, shutting the door behind him. "What happened?" he asked urgently. "Are you all right?"

Dorian tried to smile, one side of his mustache rising in an attempt to fend off Cullen's concern. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a familial disagreement. And it was a waste of time, the Inquisitor was right about that."

"The Inquisitor," Cullen said in a firm voice, "was _wrong,"_ Reaching past Dorian, he barred the door, then pulled Dorian to his desk. "Sit," he ordered.

"Yes, Commander," Dorian said with a chuckle that was obviously _intended_ to be stronger than it actually was. "Whatever you say."

Cullen took a breath to steady himself, then went to his other two doors and barred them as well, knowing his men would interpret it correctly: _leave the Commander alone._ Returning to where Dorian had flopped in his chair, Cullen leaned back against the desk at an angle which let him face Dorian more or less directly, forcing himself to put his hands on the desk. He _was_ angry, but not at Dorian, and he knew that if he crossed his arms, he might give the wrong impression. "Now," he said in a calmer voice, "talk. Please."

"Commander," Dorian began, voice halfway between dismissive and pleading, though his gaze remained steadfastly downcast. "It's not important. There's no need to talk about anything. Why, by this time tomorrow, everyone will be back to their normal cheerfully grumpy selves."

Leaning forward, Cullen settled his hand on Dorian's neck. His thumb lightly stroked along the back of Dorian's jaw as he said, "It _is_ important. You're obviously upset. Now, _please,_ tell me what happened."

Dorian's grey eyes finally rose, and Cullen again felt that ache within due to the pain he saw there, no matter how well disguised. "My father sent word that he wished to meet with me. Only I didn't get that word, of course. He knew I would ignore it completely. Instead he somehow managed to send word to the Inquisitor."

Remembering what she had said in the courtyard, Cullen asked, "And she, in turn, assumed it had to be some kind of Tevinter plot?"

"Possibly. I cannot claim to know the workings of her mind. I only know that I was summoned by the Inquisitor to accompany her on her mission. As always." A faint smile came to his lips. "Odd, how she chooses to spend so much time in my company when she clearly dislikes it."

"Well, _I_ quite enjoy it," Cullen said, softening his tone as he smoothed his thumb down Dorian's neck so he could lay his hand on Dorian's shoulder.

The other man's smile warmed into something more genuine. "A bright light in a world growing increasingly dim, my friend," Dorian replied. For an instant their gazes locked, and Cullen's throat tightened ever so slightly at what he saw. Then the moment passed as the mage closed his eyes and bowed his head. "At any rate, she took me to Redcliffe, and I, all unsuspecting, walked into the tavern thinking only to quench my thirst."

When the mage fell silent, Cullen waited a few moments before speaking. "And instead your father lurked within."

Dorian snorted. "Oh, how the great Magister would hate to be accused of _lurking,"_ he said in a bitter voice. "But you're right - that's exactly what he was doing: lurking in wait for his prey." He tapped his chest with one hand, the gesture tight with tension. "Me."

Cullen released Dorian's shoulder long enough to take that hand between his own, their time in the baths together lending the gesture a natural affinity that ended with their fingers entwined. "Tell me what happened."

"He wanted me to come home." Dorian's voice was hoarse with emotion. "He scolded me like a recalcitrant child, promising all would be forgiven if I would just return to the Imperium and do exactly as he told me to. As if I had been the one at fault. As if _he_ were the injured party in the matter."

"I take it that was not the case?" Cullen kept his voice gentle, quite aware of the way Dorian's fingers clung tightly to his own.

"That rather depends on where you stand when it comes to coercion." As Dorian spoke, his pain shifted to anger, and his tone grew increasingly bitter. "My father wanted an obedient son who would marry the wife picked out for him and pursue the path laid before his feet. Who I was, what I wanted, what I needed - none of that mattered to him. I was his son and heir, and he had high hopes for me - as high as the Archon's seat, in fact. Not surprisingly, he was shocked when I turned out to be my own person." Dorian's mouth twitched in amusement, though his eyes didn't show any sign of humor. _"Particularly_ when I developed a taste for cock, a truly unforgivable rebellion in his view."

"That's ridiculous," Cullen scoffed.

Dorian sighed and shook his head. "Not in his mind. And the more I tried to diverge from his plan, the worse it became between us. In many ways, I thought he was a good man, and because of that-" He stopped and pressed his lips together for a moment.

"You saw yourself as a failure."

After a moment, Dorian nodded slowly. "For years, I tried to appease him, to please him, to make him proud of me. But the distance grew so very great between us that after a while I… gave up. On pleasing him, and on myself. I'm not very proud of who I became, but with the help of dear friends, I was able to pull myself out of it. For a while." His eyes grew haunted again. "It didn't last. I fell again, and this time it was my father who found me. He held me prisoner for two years, in fact. I thought I could wait him out, convince him that I could not be changed. And then..." Dorian's voice failed him for a moment, but Cullen waited patiently for him to continue. Finally Dorian looked up at him. "He decided to take matters into his own hands. Luckily I learned of it in time, and escaped."

Cullen frowned. "What do you mean?" Judging from Dorian's hesitance, he knew he wasn't going to like the answer, but he had to know, had to try to answer that pain _somehow._

"He sought out the one solution to which I thought he would never stoop. The man who taught me to hate blood magic, who called it the last resort of the weak mind, decided that his legacy was more important than his morals." Dorian sighed, sounding more weary than any time Cullen could recall since meeting him. "Or his son."

"Blood magic?" Cullen felt the blood drain from his face. Granted, the Imperium had more than a bit of a reputation for it - and he'd heard the whispers of _Vint blood mage_ following Dorian since his arrival - but he knew Dorian well enough by now to dismiss _that_ preposterous notion. But to hear that Dorian himself had nearly been a victim, especially for such an absurd reason... His hand tightened its grip on Dorian's hand. "Thank the Maker that never happened to you," he breathed.

Dorian frowned for a moment, his eyes searching Cullen's face intently. "You speak from experience." It wasn't a question, and his tone was as gentle as the fingers which reached up to thread into Cullen's hair. "Kirkwall?"

Cullen cleared his throat and exhaled loudly, resisting the urge to try to massage his headache away. It never worked, anyway. "I encountered it in Kirkwall, yes, but I was not its victim. Not then." For a moment, he was in Kinloch Hold again, fighting the demons crawling inside his mind, watching the blood magic ritual turn mages and Templars alike into… _things_ for which sufficient words did not exist. When he pulled himself out of it, he found Dorian looking at him with concern on his face, and offered a weak smile. "Sorry."

"Where did you go?" Dorian asked in a hushed whisper. "I've never before seen horror in your eyes, and it's not something I particularly wish to see again."

Not wishing to dwell upon something long past, especially when Dorian's own injury was so immediate, Cullen shook his head. "It happened long ago." He took Dorian's hand from his hair and held in his own, trying to draw the attention back to the mage. "I'd rather worry about you right now. I never knew the circumstances of how you came south beyond wanting to put a stop to Alexius and his dangerous magic."

Dorian snorted. "Oh my, yes. Obviously one of my greatest triumphs," he noted with a shake of his head. "Why, I reached Haven an entire two minutes before the bulk of the Venatori forces fell upon it. Quite the dashing hero, don't you think? Oh, and don't forget when I practically swooned into the arms of the most handsome man in the Inquisition. At least _that_ wasn't a waste of time."

Cullen felt his cheeks heat as he grinned, but he refused to let himself be deflected away from the topic on hand. He knew the difference by now between Dorian's mask and _Dorian,_ and he saw how desperately Dorian was trying to cling to the mask. "Not your fault," he told Dorian firmly. "It was the Inquisitor's decision to go to Therinfal Redoubt and not back to Redcliffe."

"All because she can't trust a Vint. Someday she'll be the death of me, I swear it," Dorian said with a soft sigh, then looked up at Cullen, the mask slipping away as he added, "The worst part is that she didn't care. As soon as she realized that it was nothing more than a father chastising his son, she told me to pick who to stay with and left the tavern. Naturally I followed her."

"It didn't sound like your father had anything worthwhile to tell you," Cullen pointed out.

Dorian's lips twitched. "Hmm. I'll admit, it _did_ feel good to simply walk out on him, given how often he'd done the same to me over the years, but it felt so... abrupt. There were things I wanted to tell him, to make his failure clear in no uncertain terms. Instead..." His voice trailed away, and his eyes closed. "Instead I simply felt as if I didn't matter. My father wanted me to live a lie, and when I refused, he tried to force me to _be_ one." He shuddered as he looked up at Cullen with the same haunted expression from earlier. "I wouldn't have liked that Dorian."

"Nor I," Cullen said softly, offering a gentle smile. "I quite like you just the way you are."

A smile came to Dorian's lips as he reached out to gently touch Cullen's cheek, but it quickly dimmed into a frown. "After that entire affair, I'm worried that the Inquisitor only sees me as a lie," he said, voice soft. "It's a steady trickle of poison, withering me inside. On a day like this, it's hard to tell if anyone but me cares whether I stay or go."

"Do not let the Inquisitor's words blind you. There are those who care. Cassandra, Varric, the Iron Bull..." To emphasize the point, he slid to the floor, kneeling in front of Dorian so he could take both of the man's hands in his own. "Me."

The expression on Dorian's face made Cullen's throat ache. Seeing such utter relief at being told that someone _cared,_ after hearing what had happened... It made the moment far more poignant. Dorian's eyebrows did an odd little flutter, and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "The things you say."

"I mean it," Cullen told him in a tone that brooked no objections, even oddly cute ones. "I think you're very brave to remain here, despite the hurdles which keep rising in front of you. The Inquisition is grateful, I assure you." Lowering his voice, he squeezed Dorian's hands lightly as he added, "And I'm proud to call you my friend."

Dorian swallowed hard, blinking rapidly a few times before he finally managed to speak in a slightly hoarse voice. "Thank you. I-" Clearing his throat, Dorian finally just smiled, that soft, genuine smile which only showed when the mask was completely gone. "Thank you." He chuckled softly as he reached up to settle his hand on Cullen's shoulder. "You're making it difficult to maintain my reputation as a cold-blooded killer Magister, Commander."

Cullen grinned. _"Altus,"_ he said, wagging a finger at Dorian, and was pleased when that earned him a short laugh. "If I'm not allowed to abuse the word, neither are you."

"As you wish." The laugh faded, however, leaving an intent look on the mage's face that abruptly reminded Cullen of just how close they were to each other. With the mask gone, and Dorian at ease, it was difficult to ignore the pull between them, or the closeness which had grown over the weeks and months in the baths and their chess games.

For a moment, Cullen's gaze dropped to look at Dorian's mouth, then rose slowly to meet those keen grey eyes. His skin warmed as Dorian's hand moved to cup his neck, and Cullen felt his lips part as they both leaned closer to each other. The moment simply felt... _perfect._

The loud knock on the door, unfortunately, ruined it completely - especially when Cullen heard the familiar nasal tones of Scout Jim penetrate the door. "The Inquisitor's called a special meeting in the War Room, Commander! You're to come right away!"

 _"Festis bei umo canavarum!"_ Dorian grated as he jerked back and turned to glare at the door.

Cullen couldn't help but laugh as he stood, albeit a tad reluctantly. "I'd better see you for our chess game tomorrow," he reminded Dorian.

Recovering his composure, Dorian leaned back and casually put his hands behind his head. "I wouldn't miss it for all the wine in Minrathous," he declared. "Do have fun in your little meeting, though. It sounds dreadfully boring. Try not to daydream _too_ much about me, impossible as that may seem at the moment."

"I'll do my best," Cullen replied with a grin as he headed out the door.

The smile stayed on his face all throughout the meeting, earning him a knowing smirk from Leliana and an exasperated sigh from the Inquisitor.

Cullen, however, didn't regret it for a single moment.


	5. Chapter 5

The words swam on the paper in his hand, refusing to settle into one place long enough for him to read them. No matter how Cullen shifted and twitched the paper, the letters and figures refused to make any sense, and eventually he gave up.

Looking up at Jim, he nodded. "Go and tell Lady Leliana I'll send my answer to her later. Some of her questions require a bit of research." While it was probably _true,_ it wasn't the real reason he was delaying his response.

Scout Jim, bless his soul, simply accepted it with a salute. "Yes, Commander!" He turned and trotted from the room, having learned his lesson early that when the Commander gave an order, Jim was to hop to it.

With a sigh, Cullen returned his focus to the paper, trying to work through his headache and blurry vision to figure out precisely what Leliana needed him to know. Just as he managed to work out the words _amulet_ and _Pavus,_ however, the door slammed open.

Blinking, he looked up as the Inquisitor entered the room. Taking advantage of the moment she needed her eyes to adjust, he slipped Leliana's note into the middle of a pile of papers, then inclined his head. "Inquisitor." Reaching towards some different papers, he continued, "If you're looking for a detailed version of my morning report, I have it right here."

Sihaya dismissed his words with a curt gesture as she shook her head. "I spoke to Cassandra. She says that you are still determined to defeat your addiction."

Cullen nodded, fighting not to wince as the light glittered off of the metal decorations on the woman's horns. "I am, Inquisitor, though I promise you that-"

"I've also been talking to the soldiers," she continued almost without pausing. "You've been missing practice sessions and sometimes don't leave your office until noon. That doesn't sound like the best Commander you could be for my Inquisition, Cullen. I thought you had everything under control. What's going on?"

"It's fine. I'll-" Cullen began, but the small step he took towards her sent the room spinning around him, and the pulse in his head pounded even harder. He caught himself from falling by catching the edge of his desk, but had to remain hunched over for a few seconds.

Her look of disapproval as he took those moments to recover made him wince. Nothing she had discovered was false, after all. His headaches and blurred vision were only some of the symptoms which had impeded him in the last few weeks. Nausea, fever, lethargy - all these and more plagued him. And at night, the nightmares found him, denying him a proper rest. "There are times when I am not at my best, yes, Inquisitor. But I stand ready and willing to serve the Inquisition."

"I'm not doubting your motivation, Cullen, but all the good intentions in the world won't help if you can't fulfill your duties," she said firmly. "Can you look me in the eye and say that this will not impact your ability to serve the Inquisition to your fullest ability?"

He didn't have an answer for her, and found himself unable to look her in the eyes, either. The blood pounding in his head made it hard to think straight, and even more difficult to tell her she was mistaken. Finally he shook his head. "You were right. This was a mistake."

Sihaya crossed her arms as she tilted her head. "Does that mean you'll listen to me now?"

For a moment, Cullen's breath rang harshly in the room. Then he spoke, voice hoarse with pain both present and past. "Did you know Ferelden's Circle was taken over by Abominations? I was there. The Templars-my _friends_ -were slaughtered." Pushing himself away from his desk, he stumbled over to look out the window behind it, feeling the walls closing in on him as his mind turned back once more. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind. And I-How can you be the same person after that?"

A glance at her face showed an unexpected sympathy, but she said nothing in response to his words. The silence ate at him, reminding him of the crawling fingers of the demons in his mind, and he tried to fill the void with words, even as those words grew heavy with bitterness. "Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets." With a shake of his head, he turned back to the Inquisitor, an edge of pleading in his voice. "Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life?"

"Be that as it may, you put your health and your service to the Inquisition at risk," she said in a sharp tone. There was no forgiveness in her face or words, no quarter given. Her decision had been made on his behalf, and she would accept no dispute.

Cullen gazed through the window for a moment longer, eyes taking in the bright sky and distant mountains with a longing for the freedom that he quickly felt slipping from his grasp. He knew Cassandra still had faith in him, even when he himself did not, but it was clear that the Inquisitor did not share that sentiment. Weariness fell over him like a heavy blanket in moments like this, and it was easy to feel the doubt spread with it, seeping into his very bones. _Perhaps I am being foolish,_ he mused. And, deep down, he wondered if he actually welcomed the fact that the lyrium would one day take the memories of Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall, a silver lining of a very dark future.

Finally, he turned away from the window and walked towards the Inquisitor. "I know," he said, though the calm of those words disappeared as he suddenly felt a wave of anger - at the Templars, at the Inquisitor, but most of all, at _himself_ \- sweep over him. "I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me…How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause..." The rage became tinged with despair as he tried to find a reason to refuse her request…and failed to find one. "I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!"

Suddenly the despair and anger washed over him, and he slammed his fist into the bookshelf, knocking some volumes off as he breathed heavily a few times before whispering, "I should be taking it."

"Good," the Inquisitor said relentlessly. "Winning this war will take everything we've got. Every soldier here has made sacrifices. _I've_ made sacrifices. Even Bull's made sacrifices, or have you been too distracted to notice that the Chargers aren't here anymore?" Her eyes narrowed as she regarded Cullen. "I need my Commander at his best. Those soldiers need- No, they _deserve_ you at your best. Is that clear?"

Cullen flexed his hand, trying to get the ache out of it with little success. "Yes, Inquisitor," he said in a listless voice.

She looked at him for a moment, then stepped close enough to settle her hand on his arm. "I'm not asking you to be a Templar again," she said softly, a faint edge of sympathy in her voice. "But I _need_ my Commander. What am I supposed to do if Corypheus attacks Skyhold and you're in bed with a headache?"

Feeling more tired than he had in months, Cullen just nodded. "I understand."

With a nod, the Inquisitor moved to his desk and shoved some papers aside. Grabbing an all-too-familiar box, she turned and held it out to him. "Here. It is time."

Cullen's eyes dropped to the box, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the Sword of Mercy carved into the lid. With trembling hands, he reached out and took it from her, opening it to reveal the familiar figure of Andraste guarding a vial filled with a seductive blue liquid. Taking the vial, he held it up to the light and stared at it with longing. It almost seemed as if it were _singing_ to him. "There will be no further distractions. You have my word."

As he lifted the vial to his lips, she said, "Ah, yes. Speaking of distractions..."

Lyrium yet untasted, Cullen turned to look at her. "What is it, Inquisitor?"

"You're too close to that Vint," she told him bluntly.

Cullen blinked in surprise, then frowned. "What?"

"The Vint. Pavus," she repeated. "I don't want you to spend so much time with him. I don't trust him, not when our primary enemy is a Tevinter Magister and his servants are from the Imperium." Sihaya waggled her finger in front of Cullen's face in a warning gesture. "Don't get too close. I don't want you to get hurt."

A thousand arguments rose to Cullen's lips, but none of them emerged. The look in her eyes showed no doubt in her words: she truly believed Dorian was a danger to the Inquisition, as strongly as she had believed that the Inquisition would best be served by Cullen taking lyrium once more. Nothing Cullen said would sway her, so he didn't even try. "I'll be cautious, Inquisitor," he said dutifully. After all, at least he still had his duty.

A satisfied smile came to her face. "Good. No meeting today - I'll be leaving soon. But you'd better be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to train your soldiers, you hear me?"

"Yes, Inquisitor," he said, setting the lyrium kit on the desk so he could give her a reasonable salute.

After acknowledging him with a curt nod, she left.

Slowly Cullen turned back to his desk, dropping the lyrium vial into the kit and planting his hands on either side of it. As he stared at it, he pondered everything Sihaya had said, from start to finish, feeling the anger slowly rise as he did. He couldn't define exactly what caused it, save for an undeniable sense of _wrong_ that he couldn't quite put into words yet.

In a sudden fit of rage, he caught up the lyrium kit and flung it to the side, refusing to even look at it anymore. When he heard a gasp, he glanced up, surprised to find Dorian standing in the open door leading to the ramparts. The mage's hands were raised, with the box suspended in the air in front of him inside a shimmer of magic. As Dorian gently plucked the box from the air and entered the room, his grey eyes sought and held Cullen's gaze. "Are you... all right?" he asked gently as he set the kit on the corner of Cullen's desk.

Something about how Dorian asked the question - perhaps the way his eyebrows pushed together in concern, or the hesitancy of the words themselves - made Cullen frown. "How much did you hear?"

A guilty look crossed Dorian's face. "Most likely a large portion of it," he confessed. "You were late for our chess match, and I became concerned. I didn't intend to overhear, but..." His eyes dropped for a moment to the lyrium kit, then looked back up at Cullen. "I do hope your thrashing about with _that_ means you aren't going to capitulate to her demands."

"I won't," Cullen said with an emphatic shaking of his head. He straightened for a moment, then winced and sagged against the desk. "Not that the decision makes this easier to deal with," he added a bit plaintively.

Dorian took his arm and guided him around the desk. "Sit," he said in a gentle tone. "I may not suffer from withdrawal, but I've had enough headaches since joining the Inquisition to recognize one." Once Cullen was seated to Dorian's liking, he pushed himself up onto the desk and tugged the chair closer with his feet. "Luckily, I can help you, if you don't mind a little," he wiggled his fingers, "assistance."

"As long as it doesn't make my hair fall out," Cullen said with a strained smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't do _that_ to you, Commander," Dorian said with a wink. "What would I run my fingers through then?" A smile lit his face as Cullen chuckled weakly. "That's more like it. Now, let's do something about that headache, shall we?" His hands moved to Cullen's neck, working at the tension he found there.

As Dorian's fingers alternated between kneading and pressing firmly, Cullen felt a tingling along his muscles, and he looked up with a raised eyebrow. "A magical touch this time?"

"If you'll recall, the last time I got my hands on you, we were in a steam bath," Dorian reminded him. "Not the best place to use any sort of lightning, no matter how limited. I have found, however, that it does help relax muscles, when utilized judiciously."

"It feels incredible," Cullen admitted, eyes sagging shut as he leaned into Dorian's touch. Whatever qualms he'd once had about the man using magic around him, or even _on_ him, seemed to have fallen along the wayside somewhere. He trusted Dorian, in a way he didn't trust anyone except perhaps Cassandra, and the thought made him smile.

"Sovereign for your thoughts," Dorian murmured.

Cullen chuckled. "So much?"

"Well, I think you're worth rather more than a copper, don't you think?"

"I certainly don't feel like it at the moment." The banter relaxed him almost as much as the man's touch, oddly. Despite Dorian's repeated insistence on using his title rather than his name, it was clear to Cullen that the mage didn't actually view him solely in that light. Everyone else needed Cullen to be the Commander of the Inquisition Forces, the man to whom even the Inquisitor turned to to for advice, and not Cullen Rutherford, ex-Templar and son of a farmer from Honnleath. Not Dorian, though. He was far more interested in the man than the persona, a fact which brought a smile to Cullen's face whenever he was in the mage's presence.

"Tish tosh, Commander," Dorian said in a light tone. "That bear pelt you're wearing is worth a sovereign, or thereabouts."

The smile on Cullen's face grew as he opened his eyes and sat back in his chair. "Oh, really?" Standing, he pulled said pelt and its attached cloth from around his shoulders and leaned over to settle it on a surprised Dorian, then sat down once more. "There. A sovereign for _your_ thoughts. Or thereabouts."

Dorian chuckled as he arranged Cullen's signature article of clothing on himself and turned his head, presenting his profile in a pose. "I daresay it looks better on me than on you," he said with a twinkle in his eyes. As Cullen grinned and shook his head, Dorian primped the fur a bit, then said, "A sovereign for my thoughts, hmm? I suppose the main concern I have is whether you will obey the Inquisitor's _suggestions_ or not."

Cullen's eyes narrowed at the words. For all that the fur gave Dorian something he could fuss with, it didn't quite cover the fact that the man wouldn't meet Cullen's gaze, even when Cullen tilted his head and leaned forward. Voice soft, he asked, "The one about the lyrium? Or the one concerning you?"

"Both, Commander. I am a not a nice man, it is true, but I am not quite so heartless as to think that the only overwhelmingly important decision for you is whether or not we continue meeting like this." Though Dorian's tone suggested the matter was of little consequence, Cullen noted the way his fingers twisted in the fur around his neck. "I value our time together, as you well know, but I would also understand if-"

He stopped when Cullen reached out and took his hand, extracting it from its current prison to hold in his own. "I know who my true friends are," he told Dorian, "and I've learned my lesson about blind obedience. In this, I will trust my instinct as well as my inclination. Both tell me that it would be a poor idea to follow her advice, whether it's about lyrium or spending time with you."

"Oh?" Dorian glanced at him, then looked down to stare at their joined hands.

Cullen nodded. "The Inquisitor made a mistake, you see."

"Well, she _did_ tell you to stay away from me," Dorian said with a forced chuckle that said he honestly didn't believe that to be the reason.

"Actually, that _was_ her mistake. It made me realize just how wrong she was." Cullen reached up to take Dorian's chin in his other hand so he could tilt the man's head. "I may not always have faith in myself, or in my ability to overcome the call of the lyrium, but there is one thing I know with absolute certainty." His face turned serious as he held Dorian's gaze. "You are as loyal to the Inquisition as I am. Your entire purpose of joining the Inquisition is to defeat Corypheus, and you will not leave until that has been accomplished."

Dorian's eyebrows did a little dance as a tremulous smile came to his face. "You truly believe that of me?"

"Only someone who's as willfully blind as she is could possibly think otherwise," Cullen pointed out. "When she says jump, you jump. No matter what remote area of Ferelden or Orlais she drags you to, you follow her because that is what you have pledged to do. And she's wrong about you." Yes, that was the feeling of _wrong_ which had been simmering within earlier, present but unable to be pinned down when he'd been in the throes of his anger. "And if she can't see past her own prejudice to realize to realize how valuable you are to the Inquisition, then how can I trust her judgment in other matters? If Knight-Commander Meredith and my time in Kirkwall taught me anything, it's that blind hatred and blind obedience just make you _blind_. And if I don't question the Inquisitor about these orders, if I take lyrium again or start avoiding you only because she commanded it, then I've also proven that I learned nothing from my time serving her in Kirkwall."

Dorian's smile made his face glow, the expression again bringing a little ache to Cullen's heart because it made him realize far too much about Dorian's past without having to be told in detail. He remembered Dorian's despondency after seeing his father, after all. "Commander, you're robbing me of the opportunity to be a martyr. That's hardly kind of you."

"I never said I was kind," Cullen pointed out.

"Very true." Dorian's other hand settled on top of Cullen's, fingers tapping idly. "You know, if you ever need help with your _other_ problem, I might have a suggestion for you."

"Oh? Some sort of secret brew from the Imperium?"

Dorian chuckled, a deep, rich sound which Cullen now recognized as a sign that Dorian was relaxed. "Hmm, no, though I wouldn't be surprised if I could find something in Minrathous that would help. No, I had something entirely different in mind."

Intrigued, Cullen asked, "What is it?"

"My studies indicate that in order to resist a negatively impacting compulsive dependence - for example, a need for a substance which has untenable personal associations and a poor future outlook such as, oh, lyrium - it can be most beneficial to seek out a more positive alternative." Dorian stroked his chin, finger dancing over that little patch of hair on his chin. "If you wish, I could make a few suggestions."

It took Cullen a few moments to work through all the words, and he had to chuckle under his breath before asking, "You're saying you think you know a way to distract me from wanting lyrium?"

"Well…that's a rather _simplified_ way to phrase it, but yes." Dorian nodded.

Cullen's mouth spread into a grin as he leaned back and looked at the man seated on the desk. "Very well. What would you recommend?"

Dorian tilted his head to one side, then leaned forward to put his hands on the arms of Cullen's chair. When their faces were inches apart, his gaze dropped to Cullen's lips, then slowly rose. "Me," he said in a whisper.

The word hung between them for a moment as Cullen felt his mouth go dry. "You?"

"In very deed." Dorian's mouth twitched with a subtle humor. "I can be _quite_ distracting when I choose to be."

"I've noticed," Cullen murmured, unable to completely contain his chuckle. With Dorian so close, Cullen once again felt the pull from before, that burgeoning sense of an intimate friendship as it subtly shifted to something _different._ "Especially to the Commander of the Inquisition."

"It isn't the _Commander_ I want to be with," Dorian said with a little smile.

And there it was. _That_ was the feeling he'd felt before, the one that brought that foolish little grin to his face when Dorian made him laugh, or asked after his health, or reminded him that it was time to be beaten in chess. It was because the mage didn't want the Commander, he wanted Cullen. He wanted his friend…and possibly more.

And the more time Cullen spent with him, the more _he_ wanted that _more._

Reaching up, he sank his hands into the fur on either side of Dorian's face and tugged the man closer. "I could use a little distraction," he said softly, then closed the distance between them.

Their lips brushed lightly against each other, and Dorian's mustache tickled the sensitive skin of Cullen's mouth. The unfamiliar sensation sent a shiver down his spine, and his fingers tightened in the fur. Dorian pressed closer, deepening the kiss as his fingers ran through Cullen's hair. It wasn't a deep embrace of passion, rising heat notwithstanding. Rather, it was simply inevitable, a wordless expression of something Cullen couldn't quite put into words yet, but which he found himself wanting to explore.

When their lips parted, Cullen opened his eyes to find a soft, tender smile on Dorian's face. He couldn't help but respond with a smile of his own, especially when Dorian reached up to lightly run his finger over Cullen's lower lip. "Ah. There you are," Dorian said softly.

It was only then that Cullen realized that he hadn't been the only one laboring to remove someone's mask. He smiled. "Hmm. Like what you see?"

"Oh, most definitely." His fingers trailed up Cullen's cheek. "You have lovely eyes, Cullen."

As Cullen opened his mouth to reply, the horn announcing the Inquisitor's imminent departure sounded throughout Skyhold, and Dorian swore softly. "Now? That woman is going to be the death of me," he groaned.

"I'll admit, for once I'm tempted to tell you not to go," Cullen sighed.

"No, no, I need to uphold the good name of Tevinter. What little there is of it, anyway. Still, evil triumphs when good men do nothing, hmm? Time to go do some good." Dorian reached up and shrugged off the fur cloak, settling it once more around Cullen's shoulders. "Here. Keep it warm for me, would you?"

Cullen nodded. "Good luck."

"Luck? I have a far more desperate need for a comfortable saddle and some peeled grapes." He flashed a grin at Cullen. "Perhaps you would volunteer to help me with the latter upon my return?"

That made Cullen laugh as he stood. "I'll consider it."

"Excellent, Commander." Dorian suddenly leaned forward and brushed his lips against Cullen's, the tickle of his mustache sending more of those tingling sensations down the warrior's spine. "Until we meet again, then."

Cullen licked his lips as Dorian turned and trotted away, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as the door closed behind him.

Abruptly Cullen realized that, somewhere along the way, his headache had completely disappeared, and he smiled. "I could get used to this."


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen walked along the lines of his soldiers, barking the occasional order to ensure that everyone looked their finest. The Inquisitor and her companions were due back at Skyhold for the first time following the events at Adamant, and the troops wanted to be there to greet her. After the bird had arrived with word that the Inquisitor was only a couple of hours distant, the call had gone out and the troops now lined the bridge and the courtyard, awaiting their Inquisitor.

When the first distant cheer from outside Skyhold went up, Cullen took his place and stood to attention as the cheering grew louder. By the time Sihaya and those with her passed under the arch leading into Skyhold proper, the walls echoed with the roaring of the soldiers. As she dismounted her scaly mount and walked up the main stairs to her waiting Advisors, the shouts settled into a repeated chant of _"Herald! Herald! Herald!_ until she turned and held up her hand, commanding a silence that settled over the Inquisition Forces and left them in breathless anticipation.

It was a powerful moment - even Cullen could not deny that.

"I have returned," Sihaya began, grinning as another cheer answered her. "I have returned from a fortress called impregnable, and from the depths of the Fade itself, as I did once before." Holding up her left arm, she shouted, "The Herald has returned!

Cullen clapped, as did Leliana and Josephine, while the troops once again cheered, trying to smile for the sake of his troops. _Tried,_ and failed, as did Leliana beside him.

Meanwhile, the Inquisitor continued her speech after the shouts had died down slightly. "We have overcome everything that old Magister has thrown against us! And we will continue to do so! Together, we breached the walls of Adamant, together we fought demons and sent them back to the darkness, together we let the Wardens know, in no uncertain terms, that the murder of Divine Justinia was a crime they could not wave away!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen saw Josephine wince and Leliana's eyes narrow, though only those standing nearby would see the reactions. He definitely sympathized - it was strong rhetoric, for all that it was true, and would echo throughout Thedas, for good or ill. The Advisors had been discussing the ramifications of the Wardens' involvement in Justinia's death at the Conclave and had hoped to discuss the matter with Sihaya before the knowledge became a matter of public discourse, but it seemed this rumor had escaped even Leliana's attempts of control.

"But we did not do it without sacrifice!" Sihaya reminded them. "The brave Warden Alistair, he who stood at the side of the Hero of Ferelden to save Thedas against the villainy of the Archdemon itself, stayed behind to fight the demons so that I could continue the fight against Corypheus." Her hand spread and hovered in the air. "A moment of silence, if you please, for his sacrifice."

Heads bowed across the courtyard, Cullen's among them, as they gave Alistair that moment of recognition. It was for that reason that he and Leliana had trouble finding a smile, though Leliana had more reason to mourn. Still, he remembered the recruit from all those years ago in Ferelden, and the man's determination to do right by Thedas, and that was enough to warrant anyone's respect, and to regret the loss.

When the Inquisitor spoke again, it was in a voice just loud enough to carry. "His name, and the names of those among us who fell in Adamant, will not be forgotten. The sacrifices you have made, that you might be called upon to make, will not be in vain. I will not forget, and will continue to fight. _We_ will not forget, and will to continue to fight." Suddenly she thrust her hand into the air, the green flare of light clearly visible even in the bright light of day as she shouted, "Death to Corypheus! Death to the Vints! Victory to the Inquisition!"

A great roar arose in response to those words, a cheer which eventually settled into that same chant from before: _Herald! Herald! Herald!_

Cullen, however, fought to maintain a neutral expression. Speeches such as this were not unheard of within the Inquisition, of course - the Inquisitor truly strove to be the strong leader she claimed was necessary. He also knew that later she would go to visit the wounded, lift a few drinks in the _Herald's Rest,_ visit the kitchens and the servants' quarters, and observe the soldiers while they practiced. She knew the names of those who served the Inquisition as well as he did, perhaps better, and asked after their families, maintaining a personal interest in them that was completely sincere as far as Cullen could see. There was no denying her popularity with the troops, or the fact that it was a trust she had earned over the months.

And _yet..._

As the Inquisitor stepped moved down the steps and into the body of the soldiers to mingle, Leliana leaned over and said, "She said _Venatori_ last time, not _Vints."_

"I know," Cullen replied softly. His eyes had already sought out Dorian, relieved that Cassandra was remaining close to him as they extracted themselves from the crowd and moved up the stairs to the ramparts.

"If he didn't already spend most of his time in the library near me or in the Herald's Rest with Iron Bull, I am not sure I could vouch for his safety," Leliana said in hushed tones. "Particularly at night. There are many Templars in Skyhold now. It would not be impossible to overwhelm a mage."

Cullen winced. "I know," he repeated. "I'll talk to him. He does have his friends, after all."

"Including Barris, thank the Maker," Leliana murmured. "Though I wouldn't have anticipated that when the Templars first came to Skyhold."

"Nor I," Cullen said, allowing himself a smile at that thought. "Still, I will speak with him. And perhaps you could ask Josephine to move him to new quarters now that Iron Bull no longer sleeps in the ones next to his every night and Krem isn't-" He stopped and pressed his lips together, since the fate of the Chargers was still a bit of a sore point with him. Any death was unwelcome, but to lose such a strong group for no other reason than to gain the alliance with the Qunari... After what he'd seen in Kirkwall, it seemed a poor exchange at best.

Leliana put her hand on his shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face. "I will do so." With a final squeeze, she turned and moved to Josephine's side, speaking quietly with her as they moved towards the main hall.

Cullen had other matters on his mind, though it took him longer to get through the crowd to his office than he would have preferred. The beer and wine were already beginning to flow in the _Herald's Rest_ and out into the courtyard as the soldiers began to officially celebrate their victory in Adamant and the return of the Inquisitor from the Fade, and he had to make sure that they didn't feel the brunt of his mood. By the time he reached the ramparts, both Cassandra and Dorian were nowhere to be seen, but the door to his office was ajar.

Quietly he entered his office, eyes sweeping the room until he found Dorian and Cassandra leaning against his desk. Cassandra's hand lay on Dorian's arm, and they were speaking in lowered tones as Cullen approached.

"That woman will be the death of me. _You_ saw the way they looked at me," Dorian was saying grimly. The resigned expression on the mage's face made an ache rise in Cullen's chest, one he was becoming all too familiar with as Dorian's situation in Skyhold slowly worsened. Cullen knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of scorn, and he had _deserved_ it. The same could not be said for Dorian. "I'm a Vint. Our enemies are the Vints. It's an easy connection to draw."

"You are not an enemy of the Inquisition," Cassandra said firmly. "And there are many in Skyhold that know that."

"I know." The mage's reply came in a quiet, almost defeated tone. "But there are more who do not."

Cassandra had no answer for him, and Cullen knew why: Dorian's words rang with harsh truth. Finally she gave a soft little sigh and patted his arm. "You are still among friends."

"Indeed you are," Cullen added, stepping towards them. Dorian's head came up, his expression softening as he saw Cullen's gentle smile.

"Cullen," Cassandra greeted him, rising to her feet. "I must attend to my duties, Dorian, but I leave you in capable hands." With a final pat on Dorian's shoulder and a nod to Cullen, she strode from the room, closing the door behind her.

After barring the door, Cullen moved to Dorian's side and wrapped his arm around the man's waist. Before he could say anything, though, Dorian gave a raspy chuckle. "Cassandra truly is a dear and I know she means well, but surely I'm not the only who feels the urge to stand to attention whenever she talks, am I?"

Cullen laughed. "She does have a certain air about her, yes."

"I would dread a meeting between her and my mother. It would take the better part of an hour simply to complete the introductions, if they were done at all properly. And Mother would insist on _that."_ He gave a dramatic little shudder. "Thank the Maker that will never come to pass."

"Do you miss her?" Cullen had to admit he was curious, given the contentious nature of the relationship between Dorian and his father. Though Cullen's own father might have preferred for Cullen to remain a farmer rather than join the Templars, it had never been a matter for argument between them.

"I miss her as I miss the Imperium," Dorian mused in a voice tinged with sorrow, "with a longing for what we _should_ have more than a love of what we have now. Whether or not she was actively involved with my father's plans to change me, I cannot forget that she did not come to my aid."

Unsure how to respond to that, Cullen gave Dorian's waist a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're back in Skyhold."

Dorian looked at Cullen, that soft smile he so rarely showed coming to his lips. "You are a sight for sore eyes yourself."

"And you're not?" Reaching out, Cullen took up one of Dorian's hands in his own. "I wanted to speak with you in Adamant, but-"

"I know." The smile slipped from his face as weariness seemed to sweep over him. "She sent all of you back to Skyhold as soon as we left the Fade. To prepare for her triumphant return, no doubt."

Cullen nodded, still none too pleased by the speed with which they had all been sent packing back to Skyhold after the siege. "Once I would have insisted it to be sincerity on her part. Now, I am not so certain. Yet the troops believe in her."

"And believe her, no matter the nature of her words." Dorian inhaled sharply. "I cannot deny she is an excellent leader when it comes to those elements of the Inquisition which do not involve a handsome man with an irresistibly curled mustache. In fact, I daresay that I would call it one of the most effective organizations in Thedas by this point. She has the ear of the Emperor of Orlais and influence with the shadow behind him. The Templars are at her beck and call, and her troops are slowly spreading throughout Thedas, though I am sure that is a matter with which you are far more familiar." Raising a hand to run through his normally unruffled hair, Dorian sighed. "But you'll forgive me if I can't quite celebrate the matter."

"Given what you've been through recently, I can quite understand." For a moment he fell silent, then finally spoke what had been burning on his mind. "You've been to the Fade and back. I've met those who walked the Fade in spirit, but never with their bodies. Are you…all right?"

Dorian closed his eyes and tilted his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply through his nose. "It's a feat that hasn't been performed in a thousand years, and I was there to witness it."

Something about the tightness in Dorian's face made Cullen frown. "I take it that is an honor you would have preferred to do without?"

"Odd, isn't it?" Dorian's brow furrowed. "I was physically _in_ the Fade. Can you imagine it? Dorian of House Pavus, at the side of the Inquisitor in one of the more monumental moments of recent history, and all I wanted was to depart as quickly as we could. Which, as you can imagine, quickly became a complicated matter."

Cullen remembered the curt observation Hawke had given him before being pulled into his new duties with the Grey Wardens. _Keep an eye on Adaar,_ he'd said as he'd stared at the Inquisitor with narrowed eyes. _No one should be able to order a man to his own death so easily._ The comment had troubled him at the time Hawke had said it, and even more after he'd learned of Alistair's fate.

With a frown, Cullen nodded. "I think I can, yes."

"I will tell you this: I hope the Inquisition keeps that little trip to the Fade quiet. The Venatori serve Corypheus' whim, but they represent a small fraction of the Imperium's mages. If word reaches the Magisterium that a path to the Fade is possible, they might even see it as a challenge." Dorian shook his head as a grimace crossed his face. "There are enough idiots in the world who think if they just use enough blood magic, their problems will vanish. It's exactly the sort of thing I want to stop back home."

"Oh, I'm very familiar with that line of thinking, believe me," Cullen muttered. "I encountered it in both Ferelden and Kirkwall, and I'd rather leave it well in my past."

Dorian nodded emphatically. "As would I. This... This I don't need. There are few things I prefer to dwell upon _less_ than the prospect of blood magic."

"I definitely agree with you on that one," Cullen said fervently.

"Then let us fish for a new topic of conversation, Commander." Dorian straightened from his slouch and turned to face Cullen a bit more directly. "You know, you really should look into having actual furniture brought into your office. The chair is nice enough, I suppose, and the desk certainly has _possibilities,_ but we always end up only sitting upon it."

Cullen glanced back at his desk, one side of his mouth rising in a slow smirk as he said, _"Possibilities,_ hmm? Why do I get the feeling I'd have to clean it a little better first?"

"Oh, you most certainly would, I assure you," Dorian said with a chuckle. "That bottle would dig into my back most horribly, and that would take the romance out of the moment completely, don't you think?"

"Not to mention that the last thing I want to think of when I look at you are the patrol reports scattered across it," Cullen pointed out with a chuckle. "They make my eyes glaze over just thinking about it."

"Ah, true," Dorian replied. "Excellent point, Commander. I'd hate to have to spank you to get your attention."

Cullen blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"Well, not when you're wearing your armor, of course. I prefer my hand to remain whole." He gave a little shrug. "Selfish, I know, but it's rather difficult to hold a staff if one can't curl one's fingers properly."

"Which staff?" Cullen asked with a slow grin.

Both of Dorian's eyebrows rose, and then he threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, you are _glorious,_ Commander. I believe, however, I shall leave you to speculate upon the particular nature of the staff and to whom it belongs."

Cullen chuckled. "If you insist. However, if you're not going to satisfy my curiosity on that subject, then I hope you will do so on another."

"Oh?" Dorian asked. "And what do you wish to know about?"

"I have been informed that you once possessed a particular amulet," Cullen said, somehow managing not to look at his desk and at the letter he'd received from Leliana.

Dorian's eyes widened, then narrowed just as quickly. "How did you hear that?" Before Cullen could answer, Dorian answered himself. "Oh, Leliana. Of course _she_ would find out." He made a little gesture with his hand. "Don't make an issue with it. I don't want someone solving my personal problems for me. I'll get the amulet back. Somehow. On my own."

A bit taken aback by the vehemence of Dorian's response, Cullen tilted his head slightly. "Bold words from someone who has taken it upon himself to help me solve _my_ personal problems."

Dorian looked a little guilty at the comparison. "Well…perhaps, but surely you can see how different the two situations are. On the one hand, _you_ have a need which can best be aided by the support of friends and loved ones. I, on the other hand, am merely missing a paltry, insignificant trinket once in my possession. They are not in any fashion the same level of concern."

Cullen's eyebrow rose. Dorian's insistence on downplaying the matter only emphasized to Cullen just how important the amulet really was to him. "What is it, exactly?" Cullen asked, unable to stifle his curiosity.

"The Pavus birthright." When Cullen tilted his head, the mage added, "The flashy thing you show to peons to make them tremble at your impressive lineage." He paused, glancing away from Cullen as his brow furrowed. "I didn't leave Tevinter with much in the way of coin, so I sold it. Entirely forbidden, of course, and foolish, but I was desperate." He turned and offered that confident smile of his to Cullen, the mask so firmly in place that Cullen inwardly winced. "I'll figure something out."

"I'm surprised you want it back at all, considering what I've heard about the relationship between you and your parents," Cullen admitted. "It would seem easier to simply leave it behind, wouldn't it?"

"Ah, but when have I _ever_ chosen the easy path, Commander?" Dorian asked with a little chuckle. "It's mine, and I can say that about precious little else. Besides, it shouldn't be passed around like candy."

Cullen's eyes narrowed in speculation. "And that's all?"

"That's all, Commander." He sighed. "I ask of you, please let it be. There are enough rumors flying around about us already, and I can't ask that of you, not now, not after that little speech she gave. What would people say if the Commander of the Inquisition Forces expended his own resources to acquire a bauble for the evil Vint?" With a shake of his head, he said in a firm tone, "I lost the amulet. It is my task to retrieve it, on my own."

Since it was obvious further discussion on the matter wouldn't be helpful, Cullen simply smiled as an idea occurred to him. "Wait here. I have something I want to show you."

Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the ladder leading to his elevated bedroom and quickly climbed it, moving around the bed towards a small chest pushed up against the back wall. Opening it, he rummaged through it until a flash of silver caught his eye. Catching the silver up in one hand, he regarded it thoughtfully for a moment before nodding to himself and turning to head back to the stairs.

And almost ran into Dorian, whom he found standing directly behind him. After a moment in which he fought to keep his balance, Cullen laughed. "I distinctly remember telling you to stay put."

"And I distinctly remember you deliberately provoking my curiosity," Dorian countered. "Once by telling me you have something to show me, and twice by climbing up here, where I've never been before." He glanced at the bed. "Besides, the furniture is far more comfortable up here."

Cullen rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face only widened as he listened to the mage's protestations. "Has anyone ever told you that you resemble a cat?"

"I do have magnificent whiskers, impeccable grooming, and an insatiable curiosity," Dorian mused. "It is not an unfitting comparison, although I do believe _handsome_ rather than _cute_ would be the appropriate word to describe me, don't you think?"

Cullen tilted his head as he looked Dorian up and down. "Do I have to choose?"

"I am shocked and scandalized, Commander. Me? _Cute?"_ he demanded in an indignant tone. Turning his head, he gestured at his face. "Look at this profile. Isn't it incredible? I picture it in marble. And marble is not _cute."_

"I stand corrected," Cullen said with a laugh. "Handsome it is, then."

"Thank you," Dorian said smugly. "Now, do tell me that my traipsing up the ladder was worth it, hmm?"

The smile on Cullen's face softened. "The day I left for Templar training, my brother gave me this." Raising his hand, he opened his fingers to reveal a small silver coin with Andraste wreathed in flames upon it. "It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through."

"That sounds like precisely the kind of thing men are told when they are supposed to shut up and follow orders," Dorian noted. "I'm glad to know there was a little bit of a rebel in you all those years ago."

"Aside from the coin, that little rebel didn't really do much until a year ago," Cullen admitted. Holding up the coin once more, he said, "This is the only thing I took from Ferelden that the Templars didn't give me."

A smile settled onto Dorian's face. "Ah. It is yours in a way nothing else is. I understand."

Cullen nodded, then reached out and took Dorian's hand. "Humor me," he said in a quiet voice as he placed the coin into the mage's palm and folded his fingers over it. "We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt."

"Yes, well, Maker knows I could use it," Dorian said, but his voice was oddly thick. After a moment, he cleared his throat and looked down at his fist, and Cullen's hands still wrapped around it. "Are you absolutely certain you wish to part with this? It's obviously of great importance to you, to have kept it with you all these years."

"I'm not the one running around the countryside and putting my life on the line," Cullen told him. "Besides, everyone should have something special to call their own."

Dorian's hand tightened around the coin, and a tremulous smile came to his lips. "I- Thank you. I'll keep it safe."

"Good. I know it's foolish, but…I'm glad." He released Dorian's hand and settled it on the man's hip, pulling him close. "You're not alone, Dorian. I promise you that."

A shuddering breath escaped the mage's lips, and when he looked up, there was a suspicious gleam in his eyes. "Commander, I-"

Cullen raised a fingertip to put on Dorian's mouth. "Cullen," he said softly.

"Cullen," Dorian echoed, and smiled. "I could kiss you."

Tilting his head, Cullen pulled him closer yet. "Then why aren't you?"

Dorian laughed, then reached up and sank his hands into Cullen's hair. After a first light kiss was plucked from Cullen's lips, Dorian pulled him into a far more intimate embrace, one which made heat spread up Cullen's neck to his face as that wonderful mustache tickled at Cullen's lips and cheeks. When Dorian pulled back, a slight smile played along his lips. "Like that?"

"Yes. Exactly like that," Cullen murmured, then leaned forward to claim Dorian's lips with his own. Their time together remained so very limited that their kisses still held an air of newness which made every brush of skin on skin tingle. His hand rose to cradle Dorian's head, fingers threading into the man's hair as he plied Dorian's mouth with his own. When Dorian seized Cullen's lower lip and tugged it gently, Cullen moaned softly and felt the pool of heat building deep inside surge.

 _"Cullen,"_ Dorian rasped, the deep tone going straight to Cullen's groin. "You do realize that I am not a nice man, don't you?" His hands moved to settle on Cullen's hips, tugging Cullen closer as his hips rolled slightly. Cullen's breath hitched as he felt how alike their physical reactions had been to their kissing. "If our tongues continue to meet each other like this, I may soon dispense with the pleasantries and suggest something more… _primal."_

The way Dorian said that word made Cullen's mouth go dry, and he swallowed. "Already?"

Dorian's eyebrows rose, and he pulled back from Cullen as a variety of emotions swam over his face. Cullen winced inwardly when he saw the mask settle into place as Dorian tilted his head. "And why not? By my standards, we've been positively chaste."

"It's simply not how I'd prefer to go about this," Cullen told him.

"Go about what, exactly?" Dorian asked, crossing his arms across his chest. "You certainly seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier."

"Dorian," Cullen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I was. I very much enjoy my time with you, in fact - more than I have with anyone. I'm just…I'm not saying _no._ I'm simply saying _not yet."_

"What is it you want from me, exactly?" Dorian asked. "Or do you want me at all? I'm the Vint, after all, and you're the Commander. Perhaps it would be better if-"

He stopped speaking when Cullen stepped forward and put his hand on Dorian's cheek. "No. It has nothing to do with you. Maker, Dorian, you're the best part of Skyhold, of the Inquisition, for me, the part that helps me push through the reports and the meetings and the headaches. Knowing that I'll see your smile, wondering if we'll have time for a chess match, hoping that we'll be able to steal enough time for a kiss - those things are why I am able to rise from my bed and put on my armor every morning. It's just…I'm slow. I'm sorry."

Dorian's mouth hung opened as he stared at Cullen for a moment, before he looked away and licked his lips. "There is no need to apologize, Cullen," he said in a hoarse whisper. After a couple of attempts at clearing his throat, he turned back, eyes suspiciously bright and his lips unable to remain still. "I had no idea you felt that way as well."

A smile crept onto Cullen's face. "I know it isn't what you're used to."

"What I'm used to..." Dorian snorted softly. "Where I come from, anything between men…it's physical. It doesn't go beyond that. It's not that you don't care, you just…don't hope for more."

"Well, _I_ hope for more," Cullen said softly. "And I hope that when I'm ready, you will want more, too."

Dorian blinked rapidly a few times and bit his lower lip as his mask fell away completely. "We shall just have to see, won't we?"

Cullen laughed softly. "I notice that's not a _no,_ either."

"Most certainly not." Dorian chuckled, a warm, rich sound that made Cullen's scalp tingle. "We'll try it your way, then. But I'm afraid I must insist on _something_ to assuage my damaged pride."

"Oh?" Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow. "And what is that?"

Dorian raised his hand and tapped Cullen's breastplate, making it ring. "Can we get this deuced contraption off of you for the next kiss? I prefer to feel an entirely different sort of hardness in those circumstances."

The request made Cullen laugh, and he lifted off his cloak to wrap around Dorian once more. "Hold that for me, then."

Dorian primped the fur a few times. "Gladly."

A few moments later, the armor and gauntlets fell to the floor with a clang, and their lips found each other once more. For the moment, both of them knew they could leave the world around them behind and find comfort in the arms of another. And it was enough.

For now.

* * *

 **End Act II: The Storm Approaches**


	7. Chapter 7

_Please note the change in rating from Teen to Mature!_

* * *

 **Begin Act III: Sturm Und Drang**

* * *

Cullen paused in his prowling through the practice field, eyeing one pair in particular as he gauged their progress since arriving at Skyhold two weeks before. "There's a shield in your hand, block with it!" he barked at the man. "If that woman were your enemy, you'd be dead!" It was almost a mantra at this point, but since he never used it more than once per person, the elf just gulped, eyes wide, and turned back to his opponent with an improved shield stance which nevertheless didn't make up for his lack of footwork. That, naturally, left him wide open as the woman stepped to one side and swept his sword aside with _her_ shield.

Cullen grimaced, but before he could get his mouth open, one of his new officers - a veteran who had been with the Inquisition since Haven - stepped forward and separated the two, then took the recruit's shield and began to walk him through how to use it _and_ his feet properly.

With a smile, Cullen continued moving through the field, making his way back to Skyhold and yet _more_ practicing recruits. His progress remained slow as he took the time to respond to salutes or to weigh in on the occasional sparring match. As he got closer to the road leading to Skyhold, however, he saw a familiar figure waiting for him and hurried his steps to reach her side.

"Look at them," Cassandra said as she gestured towards the recruits spread out across the field. "Three Keeps above and beyond Skyhold filled to capacity, and we still need space beyond our own walls for training." For a moment, her eyes went to Skyhold, and the constant traffic on the bridge leading into it. "We have come a long way since Haven."

Cullen nodded. "A _very_ long way. Leliana and Josephine have worked hard to ensure that word of the Inquisition's successes has spread far and wide."

"As well as word of the danger Corypheus truly represents. He is no longer simply the leader of an obscure Tevinter cult, but a danger as real as a Blight," Cassandra pointed out. "Those who wish to be part of something larger now view the Inquisition as an organization they can join to help make a difference."

"What are the alternatives? The Chantry is weakened, the Grey Wardens are crippled, and even the Templars were almost wiped out. Their stragglers still come here, but after the debacle at Therinfal Redoubt..." Cullen shook his head. "The Inquisition is the last, best hope of Thedas against Corypheus. Even Ferelden and Orlais agree on that, and they haven't agreed on anything since Calenhad took the throne."

Cassandra smiled faintly. "I've heard that fact used to prove that the Inquisitor is, in fact, the Herald of Andraste. After all, only a true miracle could make Ferelden and Orlais come to an agreement on anything."

Chuckling under his breath, Cullen let his eyes move over the field, gauging the Inquisition Forces with the critical eye of a commander. "I don't see miracles here, but I do see a lot of hard work and determination. The heart of the Inquisition beats strong and true, and I'm glad to be a part of it."

"As am I." Cassandra turned to face him, studying him as thoroughly as she would any recruit. "You seem to be doing well, in spite of everything."

Hearing the subtle question in her voice, Cullen looked away and considered his answer. As far as the Inquisitor knew, Cullen had resumed taking lyrium. Only Dorian and Cassandra knew the extent of his struggles to conduct himself normally despite his yearning for the precious blue liquid, and both were careful to make sure that the Inquisitor never learned of them. "I think the worst has passed," he said in a quiet voice. "Both the headaches and the nightmares are _less,_ if not gone. The baths are helping, as well as..." He smiled, knowing Cassandra would know what it meant.

"I am glad he has been able to help you. I had hoped the Inquisitor would display more empathy concerning the lyrium, since she is a mage." Cassandra gave a little sigh. "Still, your addiction is diminishing, and you are the better for it."

"I most certainly agree with _that_ statement," Cullen said fervently. He glanced at Cassandra. "You're a Seeker. I'm certain you can guess some of my fears."

She nodded without hesitation. "Why do you think I was so insistent? There are too many empty stares and clouded memories among the ranks of the older Templars. I have no wish to see you in a similar state."

Cullen took a deep breath through his nose as he turned to look over his soldiers, pushing that fluttering fear away. After a few moments, and hoping to change the subject, he asked, "Was there a particular reason you're here? Usually they just send poor Jim down to fetch me."

Cassandra's face softened into a rare smile. "They do, don't they? But yes, I am here for a reason." She turned from the field and to the road, looking away from Skyhold. "A raven arrived informing us that the Inquisitor and her party are returning soon. Leliana sent me to meet her on the way in to brief her on items which cannot be trusted to paper, but-"

"-but doesn't want to draw attention to it by meeting Adaar on the road herself," Cullen finished for her. "I've been part of one or two of those exchanges myself." He raised an eyebrow. "Is this about Blackwall's disappearance?"

"Yes," Cassandra said softly. "The rumors are spreading quickly, and Leliana wanted to ensure the Inquisitor learns of it before she returns to Skyhold."

"Has Leliana learned anything about why?" The short shake of Cassandra's head made Cullen sigh. "So very odd. I saw him drinking with Adaar like old friends in the _Herald's Rest_ the night before she left Skyhold."

Giving a little sigh, Cassandra said, "I do not know, but the situation seems to merit special care."

Cullen nodded. "That it does." A bright flash of something reflecting the sun down the road caught his attention, and he squinted. "Isn't that her?"

After a moment of peering with her hand over her eyes, Cassandra nodded. "I believe so, though they don't appear to be moving. Let us go welcome them home."

Cassandra set a brisk pace as they moved towards the figures in the distance. The closer they got to the Inquisitor, however, the clearer it became that something was wrong - particularly in the way that Iron Bull was standing between Adaar and Dorian, hands raised to keep them apart.

Cassandra and Cullen exchanged a glance, then quickened their steps in unspoken agreement.

"Let's all take a deep breath," Iron Bull was saying as they moved closer. "Things are getting a little heated here."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Heated? Do you have ears in that large bony head of yours? Surely you heard what the Inquisitor said as well as I did. My hearing is as perfect as my profile, after all."

"What's done is done, Dorian," Adaar said sharply. "Leave it."

Dorian's chin lifted. "Oh, no, Inquisitor, not this time. First you ignored the man's plea for an end to his suffering, then you tell him that you are going to question him to within an inch of his life to get the answers you want, and now this?" Dorian shook his head in a tight motion. "I fail to see how it would be an improvement on how Corypheus used him."

A frown came to Adaar's face as her brows lowered, an angry step forward halted only by Iron Bull's steady arm. "I am not Corypheus. I am the Inquisitor, and I have a duty to keep my people and the people of Thedas safe. I need information on Corypheus and Calpernia. He has that information. I will get that information in any way I see fit for the good of the Inquisition, and for Thedas. Is that clear?"

Dorian's breath rasped harshly in the chill air for a few moments, and then he nodded. "Quite clear, Inquisitor." Taking one more deep breath, he stepped back and rolled his shoulders before glancing back to Skyhold for a moment. When he faced Adaar once more, he had a brilliant smile on his face, but it was as bright and brittle as his voice when he said, "If you no longer require my presence, I do believe I hear some books calling my name. You will forgive me if I trot ahead?" Adaar nodded, and Dorian gave her a little bow. "Until next you require my aid, Inquisitor," Dorian murmured, then turned and strode up the road.

Only Cullen and Cassandra saw the anguished look on his face, an expression which quickly vanished as he hurried past them. Cullen shifted his weight to follow, but Cassandra placed her hand on his arm. "Wait," she said softly. "Aren't those Templars?"

Forcing his gaze away from Dorian's tense stride, Cullen focused on the small squad of men in familiar armor marching towards them. His hand tightened into a fist as a couple of them looked at Dorian appraisingly as they passed him, a look he recognized - he'd worn it often enough, after all, in his days in the Circle. It was the look of a Templar measuring a mage, wondering if today would be the day they would become a danger. As he well knew, the trap for the Templars lay in thinking that it was never a matter of _if_ a mage would become a danger, but _when._

And to see Dorian a recipient of that made his stomach churn.

The Templars greeted Cassandra and Cullen in passing, then halted in front of Adaar. One of them stepped forward. "We have come as you ordered, Lady Inquisitor."

Adaar nodded, issuing orders in her customary clipped tones. "I need you to work with some of Leliana's agents in the Shrine of Dumat. There is a Tevinter mage there they will be questioning. Render him Tranquil. Scout Harding is waiting for you in the base camp."

"As you command," the Templar said with a crisp salute. Without another word, they moved out, heading down the mountains to the base camp established in the foothills, reminiscent in many ways of the camp established after the disaster in Haven.

Cassandra was the first to speak, stepping forward with a concerned look on her face. "Are you sure that is wise, Inquisitor? We have many mages who are allies of the Inquisition. When word spreads that you ordered a mage to be made Tranquil-"

"He's a Tevinter mage, Cassandra," Adaar said, cutting off the Seeker's protests. "It's the least they deserve." Her gaze shifted to settle on Cullen. "Commander."

Forcing himself to take a long, deep breath before answering, Cullen gave her a stiff nod. "Lady Inquisitor."

"I don't usually get a welcoming committee," Adaar noted with a hint of amusement. "Not outside the Keep walls, anyway."

Cassandra straightened unconsciously. "I was sent ahead with an urgent message for you, Inquisitor. Leliana did not think the matter should be written down or delayed. Cullen was merely keeping me company while I waited."

"Ah." The Qunari woman straightened, then looked to Cullen. "Go ahead to the Keep and tell Leliana I want to speak with her as soon as I return to Skyhold."

"Yes, Inquisitor," Cullen said by rote.

"I'll go with him," Iron Bull suddenly announced. "I need to talk to her, too. You know. Secret Ben-Hassrath things."

Adaar rolled her eyes but smiled. "Fine. We won't be far behind."

Iron Bull gave her a nod, then fell into step besides the silent Cullen as they headed back to the Keep. After a while, he glanced back, then said in a low voice, "You're going to see the Vint later, right?"

Trying to remind himself that - despite his place in the Inquisitor's bed - Iron Bull remained a staunch ally to Dorian, Cullen nodded grimly. "I take it he knew she'd called for the Templars, and why?"

"Yeah. That's why they were arguing. You missed the really fun part of the fight." Bull sighed and reached up to scratch his cheek. "Things aren't improving between them."

"No." That one word held a great deal of Cullen's growing anxiety on the matter, and he knew Bull would hear it easily enough. After a deep breath, he said, "Even Josephine has tried to talk to her on the matter, but it seems her mind is set."

Bull grunted. "The mind is a funny thing, and hers has more twists and turns than most, I'll admit. But that's not who I wanted to talk to you about."

As the Qunari paused, Cullen glanced up at him. "If not the Inquisitor, then I can only assume you mean Dorian."

"Yeah. I'm worried about him," Bull said bluntly. "He's drinking too much, separating himself from the rest of us, and spends a lot of time in camp on the perimeter, staring at the stars. Considering he used to be the vocal butterfly of the group, it's pretty noticeable."

Cullen's expression turned grim. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's bad. The more he withdraws, the more people think Sihaya is right, too, which feeds into the cycle." Bull looked down at Cullen. "I'm not one to pry-" He stopped and chuckled when Cullen snorted in disbelief, then continued, "Yeah, whatever. I'm not one to pry _noticeably,_ but I'm going to give you some advice you probably don't want to hear."

"Maker, Bull," Cullen sighed. "The Inquisitor's made her displeasure known. I don't need _you_ to tell me that I should abandon him for-"

"Not where I was going, Commander," Bull said in a chiding tone. "In fact, the _last_ thing I want you to do is leave him. I don't know what he'd do then. No, I was going to suggest you give him a good, hard fucking."

Cullen stopped in his tracks, quite aware that his cheeks were burning, but Bull's face was quite serious as he turned to face the man. "P-pardon?"

"You heard me." Bull crossed his arms and looked down at Cullen, one corner of his mouth twitching suspiciously. "Get him up that ladder or take him out to a forest somewhere. I don't care. You need to help him work that tension out, and sex is a great way to do it. Shit, if you don't, I might just knock you both out and haul the two of you up to your bed myself. And take out the ladder for a day. That should be long enough, right?"

When a glare that only made Bull's mouth widen into a grin, Cullen cleared his throat and started moving towards Skyhold again. "I'll take it under advisement," he muttered as the Qunari caught up with him.

"You do that. It's a winning strategy to help him unwind. I mean, remember how the Inquisitor used to be?" Bull gave Cullen a nudge with his elbow. "Of course, you saw for yourself a little bit of what the Inquisitor gets from me. Not that there was anything _little_ about it."

Groaning, Cullen put his hand over his face. "Yes, and honestly I'll be perfectly happy if I never have to think of that particular matter ever again."

Bull's laugh filled the air around them. "Oh, come on, Commander," he said, his hand landing on Cullen's shoulder with enough force that Cullen felt it all the way down to his feet. "Like you said. Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. And that's exactly what _you_ need to do with the Vint. Loosen him up a little. Give him something to _really_ look forward to when he's out there putting his ass on the line for Thedas."

"Maker's breath, Bull," Cullen said, though he couldn't help but smile at the man's enthusiasm. "I'll-"

"Yeah, yeah. _'Take it under advisement.'"_ Bull shook his head, glancing up at the archway of the gate to Skyhold as they entered the courtyard. Putting his hand on Cullen's shoulder again, he leaned in closer. "If I don't see a silly grin on his face and a hitch in his step tomorrow, I'm going to come looking for you. Understood?"

"Understood," Cullen said with a resigned nod.

"Good. Now go make him smile," Bull said in a soft rumble. "He's overdue for one."

As Bull walked away, Cullen closed his eyes for a moment. The exact _nature_ of Bull's advice aside, the tone of the conversation had left him feeling even more worried about Dorian and his place in the Inquisition. The tension wasn't only in Dorian's muscles: it had been clear to see in the air between him and the Inquisitor. Cullen and Cassandra had discussed it several times, the feeling that the tension couldn't continue to build without something happening. They simply did not know what would happen when it broke.

And the very idea of anything _breaking_ filled Cullen with a distinct sense of unease.

His mind wasn't really on his task as he went to tell Leliana that the Inquisitor would wish to speak with her as soon as she got back, but he did notice that Dorian's chair in the library remained empty on the way back down to the main hall. A frown came to his face as he looked around and didn't see any sign of the mage. When a search of his office and the small garden where they enjoyed their chess matches also proved fruitless, he headed towards the tavern.

As he pushed the door open to the _Herald's Rest,_ it was in time to hear the sounds of quickly shifted chairs and the creaks of the floorboards as a large number of people stood at once. "I said," a voice slurred with drink said, "your kind isn't welcome here."

Those words spurred Cullen's steps as he moved towards the brewing fight, particularly when a familiar voice sallied back, "And what kind, precisely, is that? There are so _many_ traits to choose from for your displeasure, after all."

He pushed through the crowd in time to see a heavyset man he recognized as one of Dennet's farriers step menacingly towards where Dorian stood in the middle of the floor. "Traitor," he spat, then drew back his fist.

By that point, Cullen was close enough to grab it, though he had no doubt that Dorian could take care of the problem himself. He simply didn't want to give men like this more fodder for their prejudice, even if they were the ones provoking Dorian in the first place. Wrenching the brute around, he leaned in so that his face was inches away from him. "Do you have a problem, ser?"

"Oh, so now you're protecting the Vint?" the man bellowed. "Well, I'll make sure the Inquisitor knows her Commander is just as much a traitor as-"

The sentence never finished as a large fist came down on the man's head, causing him to crumple to the ground. Iron Bull looked around at the gathered crowd and said, "Anyone who has a problem with the Vint has a problem with me. Got it?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Into the tense silence, the strains of a lute began to play a familiar melody. As Maryden's skilled fingers worked through the opening of _Nightingale's Eyes,_ the mood shifted, and without another word, the crowd began to disperse.

Cullen looked to Maryden and gave her a subtle nod of appreciation, which was returned with a slow, grave wink. It heartened him to know that Dorian had more than Bull's eyes watching out for him in the tavern. He turned back to find Bull heaving the unconscious man up onto his shoulder. "Don't worry. I got this," the Qunari told him. "You stay here and have a couple of drinks with Dorian."

That made sense. Tactically speaking, leaving now would be viewed as a retreat. The point wasn't to just deny the accusation, but to emphasize that Dorian was a trusted and integral part of the Inquisition. "Barkeep," he said, and held up two fingers. The dwarf nodded and turned to get their drinks as Cullen gestured to a nearby table. "Let's enjoy the music for a bit," he suggested.

Dorian nodded, though there was enough tension in the motion to indicate the difficulty he was having to maintain a calm demeanor. "Happily, Commander. That's what I came in for in the first place, after all. A few convivial drinks, and then back to my little nook."

The words caused a few of those nearby to wince and quickly look elsewhere, a sign of guilt that Cullen took as hopeful. A ringleader could be attended to, but a group who all believed the same thing was more difficult to ignore. After all, Cullen couldn't always be there.

And the thought worried him more than ever.

One drink turned into two before Iron Bull returned and joined them, making two turn into three, then more. They took their time with each round of drinks, though, an unspoken agreement between Bull and Cullen to give Dorian time to feel comfortable in the tavern once more. As the afternoon turned into evening, a couple of other regulars in the tavern dropped down into the fourth chair at their table at different times, joining in on the conversation with no hint of unease around the mage.

By the time Bull stood to make his way to the Inquisitor's quarters, Dorian was laughing and seemingly quite jolly - and also more than a bit tipsy. As Cullen lifted his mug to gulp the last of his drink, Bull glanced towards him and said, "Remember what I told you earlier. Tonight, or I step in."

Cullen sputtered into his mug, trying not to spray the table with a mouthful of ale as Bull turned away, chuckling under his breath. _Maker's breath!_

"What was that about?" Dorian asked with an elegant rise of an eyebrow.

"Ah, nothing." Before Dorian could inquire further, Cullen quickly set his mug down and stood. "Come on, let's get some fresh air. I'm beginning to get a bit dizzy."

"As you wish, Commander." Dorian stood and stretched. "Truth be told, I do think I've had more than enough for an evening." He reached into his purse and pulled out some coins to drop onto the table. "Let's be off."

Once they left the tavern, it seemed a natural thing to move up the stairs to the ramparts and stand there looking over the landscape illuminated by the soft light of the crescent moon. Neither of them spoke until finally Cullen moved closer to Dorian. "I'm sorry you had such a poor reception on your return to Skyhold."

Dorian gave a long sigh, then reached out to take Cullen's hand. "I've had better homecomings. Then again, I've also had worse." He smiled. "And time spent with you is rarely a burden, hmm?"

"I'm glad you think so," Cullen said as he squeezed the hand in his. The following shiver, however, had more to do with the chill wind that swept over the ramparts than anything else. "Maker, that wind is cold."

"We could go to someplace warmer." Dorian's mustache twitched in amusement. "And before you accuse me of trying to get into your bed, I was actually thinking of those incredibly enticing steam baths we haven't visited together for far too long."

"So you don't want to get me into bed, but you still want to see me sweaty and naked," Cullen said with a smirk.

"I never claimed to be a _nice_ man, Cullen," Dorian said in a low voice. "And it's been a long time since we've spent any time together. Why should I not see you in all your muscled glory, hmm?"

Cullen felt his cheeks heat as he reached up to rub the back of his neck with his free hand. "Or to be seen?"

"That _is_ half the fun, yes." Dorian moved a bit closer, his fingers twining in the fur of Cullen's collar. "Do make sure to admire me endlessly, won't you? I'd hate to think that I would go to the trouble of undoing all these buckles for nothing."

That brought a soft laugh to Cullen's lips, and his worries faded as he looked into those beautiful grey eyes and smiled. "I won't fail you, I promise."

"No," Dorian murmured. "You won't, will you?" Before Cullen could respond, he leaned in and caressed Cullen's lips with his, then pressed in for something deeper. His hand left the fur to curl into Cullen's hair, and he inhaled sharply as Cullen's arm snaked around his waist, pulling them close to each other. As their lips parted, Dorian's eyes fluttered open, and a tender smile came to his face. "You're a terrible, terrible man."

Cullen's eyebrows rose. "For what, exactly?"

"For making me wait so long, naturally. Now," he continued, a bit more briskly, "about that bath…It's freezing out here. "

Cullen laughed as he pushed away from the ramparts. "Then let's go."

A few minutes later saw them relaxing on the benches in the sweat room, nursing large jugs of water and reveling in the heat. At this time of night, they had the baths largely to themselves, with only a couple of others who were clearly there for a quick cleaning before heading to bed.

Once they were alone, Dorian peeked at Cullen from beneath the towel draped over his head. "So, what _did_ Bull mean? What is so special about tonight? And don't try to claim it has nothing to do with me. He wouldn't have said it quite the way he did if I wasn't meant to hear and speculate."

Abruptly grateful for the dimness of the baths as his cheeks warmed, Cullen cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "Pardon?"

"And don't lead me down _that_ garden path either, _Commander,"_ Dorian drawled. "You heard what I said, and I'll have the answer from you one way or another."

The answer gave Cullen pause. A staged seduction... no, he was certain he wouldn't be able to carry one out. Though they'd ended up in Cullen's bed before, it had usually involved Dorian holding Cullen close during his nightmares, or nursing him through fevers and chills. Sometimes, it had been more pleasant activities, but nothing like what Bull had described.

Still, the way Dorian's little smile made his mustache curve below a twinkle in the man's eyes... _that_ he could enjoy without hesitation. And perhaps now was the time to let _something more_ happen. "That sounds like a threat," he noted as he let a teasing grin lift one corner of his mouth.

One of Dorian's eyebrows rose, and his smile widened as he moved closer. "Oh, it most certainly is," the man said. "Once my curiosity is roused, it is quite difficult to put to rest again."

Yes, this back and forth play seemed a far better idea than what Bull had suggested. Cullen let his half-grin bloom into a smirk as he inched closer to Dorian. "And what exactly would you do if I don't tell you what you want to know?"

Leaning in the last few inches, Dorian settled his hand on Cullen's knee. As his fingers stroked in a small circular motion, he murmured, "To start with, I would try to find a weak point. That is what you soldiers are all about, isn't it? Finding soft spots in your enemy's defense?"

Cullen laughed, albeit a trifle breathlessly. "That's only part of a viable strategy," he said, then cleared his throat as Dorian's hand spread wide and inched up his thigh. "Ah, another part is to exploit those weaknesses, of course."

"True, it's difficult not to win if you don't engage," Dorian said in a musing tone of voice. His gaze flicked down Cullen's body then up to watch his face as his hand explored further. "Does this mean we should discuss the rules of engagement? That's another one of those phrases sprinkled throughout those books in your office."

Shifting his hips slightly, Cullen chuckled as he licked his lips, breath hitching when Dorian gently pulled Cullen's legs farther apart. "Those are…typically established prior to-" He let his head fall back against the wall, voice trailing off as Dorian's deft fingers stroked up beneath the towel around Cullen's waist and found that line of muscle that slanted from the hip before going down and _in. "Maker!"_ he gasped.

"I think it has been far too long since you have discussed these particular _rules_ with anyone, Commander," Dorian said, the amusement in his voice not quite enough to disguise the way it deepened. "Are you sure your skills are up to the task?"

That made Cullen laugh, just before he suddenly opened his eyes and hooked his arm around Dorian's waist to pull him closer. "My _skills_ are fine, thank you," he growled, then seized those tempting lips in a kiss which was somewhere between _searing_ and _desperate._ His hand reached up and dragged the towel on Dorian's head away, flinging it to the ground before snaking his hand into Dorian's hair so he could deepen the kiss.

Dorian moaned softly into the kiss, his hand tightening on Cullen's thigh as they shifted on the bench until they were pressed against each other. When their lips finally parted, Dorian's eyes were closed. After a moment, he sighed and slowly opened them. "If you are trying to make me swoon, Commander, that is most certainly the start of a winning strategy."

Cullen felt a sloppy grin come to his face. "Perhaps we should get you out of this heat, then," he murmured.

One of Dorian's immaculate eyebrows rose as he gave Cullen a rather intense look through half-lidded eyes. "And commence with making our own?"

"Maker, I hope so," Cullen breathed.

They made it as far as the next room with its cool soaking pool and cushioned benches before Cullen pushed Dorian against the wall. Cullen couldn't tell if the man's gasp was for the passionate kiss, the feeling of cold stone on his heated back, or the abrupt and dramatic removal of the towel yet clinging to his waist. As Cullen's lips released Dorian and worked their way down his neck, the mage groaned. "Cullen!"

"Hmm?" Cullen asked, in between nibbling at Dorian's pulse and sliding his tongue over the bump on Dorian's throat, which Cullen had learned was _quite_ enticing. Meanwhile, his hands slid down the mage's sweat-dampened chest, caressing the hard lines of Dorian's body with strong hands. A distant part of him realized just how much harder Dorian's body had become in only the past month while he'd been away from Skyhold with the Inquisitor, and briefly found something new to worry about. The thought was quickly dashed away as his fingers found that oh-so-tempting growth of hair that trailed down the lower part of Dorian's abdomen. "What was that?"

As Cullen's fingers stroked firmly down Dorian's length and then further to cradle and fondle his balls, Dorian's hips jerked forward and his hands scrabbled for a moment at their normal perch atop a sadly absent fur cloak before rising to sink in Cullen's hair. _"Cullen!"_ This time the name was almost a cry more than a moan, and Cullen recognized the tone from his own long, lonely nights in Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall both: desperation.

"Dorian," he breathed, then straightened to claim the man's lips with a passion that let the mage know how much he had missed him, and how he understood that need for _more._ As the kiss deepened, Cullen felt Dorian's hands release their hold on his hair and drop to his shoulders one by one as Dorian relaxed. When their lips separated, Dorian stared at him, eyes half-lidded as if in a daze. "You've been gone far too long," Cullen whispered.

"I assure you, not by my own choice," Dorian murmured. "Had I my preference, I would have been quite well ensconced with you in your bed, buried in your nice, warm cloak. Or, perhaps, in a nice, warm _you."_

The words hung between them for a moment, and Cullen slowly licked his reddened lips. "I feel as if we've been here before," he said softly.

"Oh, we certainly danced up to this line before I last left with the Inquisitor," Dorian said with a breathy chuckle. "And here we are yet again, swaying close once more. I…do not wish to make demands, but-"

Cullen held a finger to his lips. "You cannot demand what I freely offer," he told Dorian in a gentle tone. Before the mage could respond, Cullen seized his lips in a kiss, fingers teasing and squeezing below as he sought to stoke the fire into a blaze once more. When Dorian's hips rocked forward once more, Cullen pulled back from the kiss, smiling as he took in the sight of Dorian with tousled hair and parted lips. "Perfect."

When Cullen knelt, Dorian's hands tightened on his shoulders, then moved to settle into damp blond hair. "Cullen," he murmured, almost in the manner of a prayer. As Cullen began to worship the mage with his tongue and lips, a long, low moan escaped from Dorian. His head fell back against the stone with a thump, and his hips moved enough that Cullen had to reach up to restrain them. "Maker, when did you learn to do this?"

Since his tongue was otherwise quite happily occupied, Cullen opted to leave the question unanswered. Instead he turned his concentration to savoring the taste of hot skin, the feel of the muscles rippling at Dorian's hips, and the sharp little intakes of breath from above. One of his hands moved from Dorian's hip to stroke down and in, his fingers taking their time to explore Dorian in a way he'd shied away from before.

It took the sound of footsteps entering the hot room next door to remind Cullen that they weren't exactly private, and he pulled away from Dorian with a quiet muttered oath. Grabbing for Dorian's towel, he stood and settled it back around the man's waist with a quick tug. He knew his neck and cheeks were bright red, but he also couldn't help but be a bit proud of the way the mage took a moment to come back to himself and blink.

 _"Kaffas._ Could they not have waited longer?" Dorian complained. Before Cullen could respond, the mage leaned in and stole a quick kiss, then froze as a familiar voice came from the steam room. His face hardened for a moment as the air rang with the Inquisitor's laughter. _"Venhedis._ That woman truly will be the death of me at this rate."

Hoping to distract Dorian, Cullen grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door leading to the changing room. "New orders," he declared in crisp tones, albeit quietly. "Clothes on, go to my office, lock the doors, then clothes off again. I'm not done with you yet."

That certainly got Dorian's attention, and he smiled as the tension slipped from his shoulders. "I'm beginning to see why you're considered a master strategist, Commander."

"I've only just begun," Cullen growled.

They managed to get into their clothes and sneak out without being spotted by the Inquisitor or her guest - presumably the Iron Bull. The walk back to his office was a blur, though he did recall barring the first door while pressing Dorian into it for a desperate kiss. The fevered race to undo armor and buckles passed in a blur, and soon they lay on the bed, lit only by the moonlight filtering in from the hole in the roof above.

For a moment, Cullen paused to look down at Dorian for a moment of appreciation. The pale light made Dorian's grey eyes almost glow, and the sheen of sweat and heat on his skin added a gleam that emphasized the lines of his muscles. "Maker, but you take my breath away," he murmured as his fingers caressed Dorian's chest with a feather-light touch. "I'm not sure if it's the moonlight or my heart, but you almost seem to glow."

A tender smile came to Dorian's face. "You do realize that if anyone asks, we both have to deny you ever said such a thing." His fingers rose to caress Cullen's cheek, then stroked slowly down Cullen's torso. "A month of starvation and now you give me a feast. I do hope I don't turn into a glutton."

A smile came to Cullen's lips as he leaned down close enough to feel the tickle of Dorian's mustache. "I rather hope you do," he whispered, then claimed those lips for a searing kiss.

Time melted away as he lost all awareness of anything but the other man. Hands and lips wandered freely, and any lingering reticence on Cullen's part seemed to have melted away in the month they'd been apart. Yet, despite that newfound sensual freedom, neither of them were in a hurry to rush to the end. Instead, they lingered on each gasp and moan, on the way their bodies seemed to work together, and on being _intimate_ in ways which extended beyond mere physical pleasure.

And when every inch of skin between them had been explored with fingers and lips, when the sheets were thoroughly rumpled and even Dorian's normally immaculate hair and mustache were mussed beyond recovery, Cullen looked up to see a question on the mage's face, an uncertainty which had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the heart. He didn't answer with words, not yet. Instead, he reached up to cup his hand on the back of Dorian's neck and pull him close enough for a long, lingering kiss. When their lips parted, he smiled up at Dorian and let his thumb tease a corner of the man's mustache as he whispered, "I am yours."

For a moment, the mage's eyes darted over Cullen's face, searching for something Cullen could not begin to fathom. Finally, Dorian took a long, shuddering breath. "Thank you, _amatus."_

After that, there was only perfection.


	8. Chapter 8

"He's asking for you, Commander."

Cullen stared through the arch of Skyhold's gate for another moment, taking a slow breath to steady himself. In those fleeting moments, the sun slipped out of sight below the bridge with a final glorious burst of light which left the courtyard bathed in a haze of orange and red. The tents now filled it from end to end, holding the dead and dying who had been brought back from the Arbor Wilds. Those who would eventually recover had been moved into the Keep proper, and those who wouldn't... He shook his head silently and turned to meet the gaze of Mother Giselle, who bowed her head and held the tent flap open for him.

Ducking inside, Cullen sat down next to the cot within, across from Cassandra. For a moment he met her eyes, not needing to see the sorrow there to know why he'd been called in now. Then he took the hand of the man who lay in the bed, ignoring the blood-stained bandages that swathed his lower half. "I'm here."

The man's eyes fluttered open, their light already dim even as he looked up at Cullen and squinted. "Commander, ser," he said between ragged breaths. "They... they made the pain go away. Something thick and red. I don't know what it was."

When the man stopped to groan and press a hand to his head, Cullen patted his hand. "Take your time, Jim. Don't strain yourself."

"D-don't worry about me, ser," Jim said, forcing a weak but brave smile. "I got to help save the world. No man can claim more than that, can he?"

"That you did," Cullen said with a nod. "The Inquisition could not have asked for a more faithful servant than Scout Jim." A movement caught his attention, and he looked up to see Cassandra bow her head, mouth moving as she silently invoked the Chant. Cullen patted the hand he held, noting its lack of strength. "I'm sure the Inquisitor herself would be here if she could."

"I won't be like Blackwall? Left to die alone?" Jim whispered, his hand trying to tighten around Cullen's.

Cullen pressed his lips together for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he said, in case Jim couldn't see the movement. "Not you, Jim. Never you. I'm here, Seeker Cassandra is here, and so is Mother Giselle. You won't die alone, and your name will be remembered."

The brave little smile returned to his face, then immediately faded as a wracking cough tore through his body. Cullen held on tightly until the spasming stopped, waiting as Jim gasped for air. Finally, the scout managed to croak, "Well, when the time comes, you'll make sure to give that old Tevinter bastard a kick from ol' Jim, won't you?" Suddenly his eyes widened. "Not…not _our_ Tevinter, of course. I like him."

That made Cullen smile a little despite the circumstances. "I'll do my best to kick Corypheus where it hurts just for you, I promise."

"Thank you, Ser," Jim whispered as his eyelids slowly slid shut. "Maker bless you, Commander, and Andraste guide her Herald." After those words, Jim fell limp, and it took Cullen a moment to see the irregular rise and fall of his chest as he continued to fight for breath.

Cassandra reached out to take his other hand, her voice soft as she said, "Go to the Maker's side, Jim. You will be welcome."

After that, it became a vigil, the silence broken only by the sound of the scout's hoarse breathing. It wasn't long before Jim's condition grew worse, each gasp for air a fight for a moment more of life. When he finally slipped away with a long, weary sigh, they all bowed their heads. After a while, Giselle spoke in a hushed whisper.

 _"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_  
 _For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light  
_ And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost."

Cullen squeezed the hand he held tightly, then laid it on Jim's chest and watched quietly as Cassandra did the same for Jim's other hand. Together they tugged the blanket up and over the still, pale face. For a moment, Cullen rested his hand on the covered head, fighting a distant sense of anger. "He was a good man. It should have ended differently for him."

"And for all the others," Cassandra agreed.

"They died fighting a great evil in this world," Giselle said. "They will be, as the Seeker said, welcome at the Maker's side." She laid her hand on Jim's leg for a moment, then shook her head. "There are others who need the Maker's blessing. Commander, Seeker." After nodding to each in turn, she quietly left the tent.

After a few moments of staring at the shrouded body, Cullen abruptly rose. "Can we talk, Cassandra? Elsewhere?"

"Of course, Cullen." Taking his cue for informality, she rose and moved to the tent flap, holding it open for him. "Perhaps on the ramparts? We need to light a torch for poor Jim."

Cullen nodded and stepped from the tent. As he moved to pick up one of the unlit torches, the few healthy soldiers who were nearby paused in their duties and stood to attention. After he lit the torch from the magical flame Vivienne had created exactly for this purpose, they saluted Cullen - or, more specifically, the torch he held - a gesture he returned gravely.

Holding the torch aloft, Cullen walked slowly to the ramparts, acknowledging each soldier he passed with a nod or a salute of his own. When he reached the top of the stairs, he moved to settle it into one of the newly installed sockets on the outside of the walls, then stepped back. "Maker hold you, Scout Jim," he said softly.

Cassandra came to stand beside him, taking his hand in hers as she echoed her words from earlier. "He will be welcome."

For a long moment, Cullen didn't speak as he watched the torch's flame dance in the wind. Finally he squeezed Cassandra's hand before turning to face her. "You caught that comment about Blackwall?"

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "And it is not the first time I have heard that sentiment."

"Several soldiers have told me that leaving him to be executed didn't set well with them," he said, his tone a trifle grim. "And that was even before what Adaar did to the others."

"And for those who speak, there are ten more who agree in silence," she sighed. "No matter how many come to Skyhold and the Keeps beyond to serve in the Inquisition, it doesn't help if we don't retain them."

"First Blackwall is left to hang, then Sera is told to pack her bags. And that fight with Solas?" Cullen shook her head. "The rumors are flying so fast even Leliana can't catch them. They say the Herald is starting to crack under the pressure, and... I can't say I disagree," he said, in almost a whisper. It felt like treason to say it, but it couldn't be denied that the Inquisition's cohesion had taken several blows in the weeks leading up to the engagement in Arbor Wilds.

Cassandra nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly. "Which makes her behavior since then even more questionable to them."

"I wish she'd let Morrigan drink from that Well," Cullen said grimly. "Leliana said that her scouts have overheard mutterings of an ancient curse put on the Inquisitor. Add that to these," he gestured to the line of torches flickering in the darkening light, "and we're worried. Josephine says it's inevitable that the rumors will spread beyond these walls, and when that happens..." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's only a matter of time before the Chantry finds a new reason to denounce a Vashoth apostate mercenary once more."

"A Vashoth apostate mercenary who's supporting a mage as the next leader of the Chantry," Cassandra pointed out. "While I think Vivienne more than capable of succeeding Divine Justinia, I suspect the Inquisitor's support of her bid for the highest seat in the Chantry has made many in power uncomfortable. A mage - even a Circle mage - has never before been considered for the Sunburst Throne ** _._** "

Cullen took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "We're so close to defeating Corypheus," he murmured. "And I can't help but feel as if things are suddenly falling apart."

"Falling, falling down into the depths of despair," a voice whispered from nearby. "She can't see the bottom because she doesn't realize she's stepped into the abyss."

Jerking in surprise, Cullen forced himself to remain calm as he turned to look at Cole. As much as he was still wary around the spirit-man, Cullen knew that even Mother Giselle had acknowledged Cole's tireless efforts to help the worst of the wounded. Meeting Cole's pale gaze, he asked softly, "The Inquisitor? Is that who you mean?"

Cole's eyes closed as he shuddered. "The cold surrounds her, whispering fear over and over into her mind until she loses herself into the grasp of a justice which demands death. He tries to help her, but his cage is shut tight, sealed with the blood of those who lost their last, best hope."

The words pricked a chill that down Cullen's spine. "Cole, speak plainly. Do you mean the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull?"

Cassandra stepped forward, face intent. "Do you know what the Well did to her?"

Cole's eyes opened slowly, and glinted in the torchlight. "I can't help her. I cannot find her. I have no place in her heart."

"What do you mean?" Cullen demanded.

Before Cole could respond, the horn sounded to announce the return of the Inquisitor to Skyhold. Both Cullen and Cassandra turned instinctively as the sound of horses entering the courtyard echoed up to where they stood on the ramparts. When he looked back to repeat his question, he found only emptiness where Cole had been and swore softly. "What was that about?"

Cassandra sighed softly. "I do not know, but it did not sound very reassuring. We both know the Inquisitor has been different after drinking from the Well." Her gaze turned to where the Inquisitor and her party were dismounting in the courtyard, the dust of travel visible even in the torchlight. "Go speak with her. Find out where she went. I must speak to Leliana about what Cole said."

"Yes, Seeker." Even had he not been inclined to do so already, Cassandra's crisp note of command would have spurred him forward. He may have been Commander of the Inquisition Forces, but Cassandra Pentaghast had a voice that could command the dead - or so Dorian had once claimed.

The thought of the mage drew a brief smile to his face, and his eyes automatically sought him amongst the small group below. The curve of his lips shifted in the opposite direction as he caught sight of the man, however. From a distance, what had seemed to be dust proved to be something far more sinister, and his steps hurried him in his approach.

"Inquisitor, have the healers been called?" A quick survey of the group showed the remnants of a great battle, though it was the burns and claw marks on Iron Bull's golden chest plate that gave him the final clue.

Adaar waved the question away. "We're fine, Commander. Just a bit singed here or there." Before Cullen could push the matter, she continued. "I want you to call the Advisors together. We have to plan for the final battle for Corypheus, and time is running out."

Though every part of him ached to pull Dorian into his arms and bring some joy back into that dull, lifeless stare, Cullen forced himself to take a deep breath and nod. They all knew that Corypheus had nothing left - his forces were decimated, Calpernia was dead, and all his strongholds were now occupied by Inquisition forces. As he saluted and opened his mouth to respond, however, the Inquisitor's head suddenly jerked to the side.

"Yes, I know," she said, then paused as if listening. Cullen looked at the Iron Bull, noticing his worried expression as Adaar stepped away and began muttering to herself.

Dorian stirred, brushing at some soot on his armor a bit listlessly as he looked at Bull. "You do know that's not a good sign? I don't think that's the voice of Andraste she's hearing."

Bull heaved a sigh, his broad shoulders moving in a tight shrug. "No," he said in a quiet rumble. "But there's not much we can do about it now." With a shake of his head, he settled his hand heavily on Cullen's shoulder. "I'll take care of her, Cullen. It might take a while, though. Just…give me some time. Besides, you've got more important things to take care of, right?" With a final squeeze of Cullen's shoulder, he set off towards Adaar, the uneven hitch in his steps evidence that he wasn't _fine,_ no matter what the Inquisitor insisted.

When a hand slipped into his own, he quickly pulled his attention back to the man now standing at his side. His gaze flicked over gaunt cheeks, the dark circles under grey eyes, and the slight lift of one side of his mustache. The last detail brought a little smile to his lips, and he murmured, "I'm glad you're back."

"As am I. Being torn from your sweet embrace was tragedy enough, but to be dragged into a rather nasty dragon fight after a frenzied flight across Thedas to get there…Well." A rather pleading look came to his face. "I rather fancy a bath. Could I persuade you?"

"Rather easily. At this time of night, we're pretty much guaranteed to have it to ourselves," Cullen assured him with a smile. "Though I can't claim to have fought a dragon, it's been a rather unpleasant week, and not only because you were gone."

"You can tell me all about it while you rub that salve of yours on my poor bruises," Dorian assured him as they headed to the steam baths.

Cullen chuckled. "As you wish."

Dorian inhaled sharply as Cullen rubbed some salve on a nasty bruise on his shoulder, causing the warrior to frown. "Didn't she let you rest at all? This is even worse than that last dragon you took out in Emprise du Lion. And even Bull complained about that one. Well." He paused, reconsidering that statement. "In his own way."

"You mean because it took too long to find?" Dorian suggested with a tired chuckle, just before he winced as Cullen found yet another bruise on his side. "Or because it was too cold to stay and celebrate the kill properly?"

"Both," Cullen said with a rueful smile. Deciding that conversation would be a better option than trying to find more reasons to be angry - for Dorian's sake as much as anything - he added, "Both seem uniquely Bull, don't they?"

"Oh, yes." Dorian turned his head so he could talk to Cullen a bit more easily, his profile a handsome line in the dimness of the baths. "You know, I've grown quite fond of the brute. He's been a good friend even when..." His voice trailed off, and the little curve of his lips lifting his mustache faded away.

"I know." Though Cullen hadn't walked the breadth of Thedas with the Inquisitor and her chosen few, he knew all too well how she treated Dorian. In hushed conversations with Cassandra over the last few days, they'd shared several concerns in Adaar's behavior they'd noticed over the weeks leading up to the Arbor Wilds and her sudden abrupt departure from Skyhold. Her treatment of Dorian had been only one of many topics, but it had been one which they agreed needed to be addressed quickly. "What happened in the Temple? She dragged you off so quickly, we've had difficulty piecing together what happened."

Dorian closed his eyes and turned away, though Cullen saw his throat move as he swallowed. "She won. What more need be said?"

"Dorian," Cullen began, then fell silent when the mage reached back and took Cullen's hand in his own. Setting the jar of salve aside, he tugged Dorian closer, settling them onto the bench so he could wrap his arms around Dorian in a firm embrace. "Do you want to talk about it?" he murmured.

A small shudder wracked Dorian's body. "The Inquisitor..." When Cullen felt Dorian's body tense up, he instinctively sought out the tension in Dorian's back, trying to soothe it away. After a few moments, Dorian sighed. "We'd already defeated her. Calpernia, I mean. That's what I can't understand. The Inquisitor had won. Calpernia had chosen her own fate, her own death. She was our enemy, yes, but she was defeated. Adaar didn't need to-" Dorian shook his head and fell silent as he snuggled in closer to Cullen.

After a few moments, the words emerged, in fits and spurts, as Dorian told Cullen about the death of Corypheus' general. How Calpernia had turned away and taken a step off the precipice, clearly intending to fall to her death. How the Inquisitor had taken even that from her with a blast of ice and a burst of magic which had filled the Temple with a boom of shattering destruction. How Adaar had moved to where Calpernia had once stood and retrieved her staff. "And then..."

When Dorian's voice faltered, Cullen wrapped his arms tightly around the other man and squeezed. "Then?"

"She said _no Vint will escape me,_ just as she looked at me." A little shudder ran through him. "It was only a moment, but I know what I saw. And I wish I could forget what I saw in her eyes."

A chill ran down Cullen's spine. "Maker, Dorian," he breathed. He pressed a desperate kiss to Dorian's temple, then shifted their position so he could hold the man even closer. "We have to get you out of here. Adaar clearly isn't in a right state of mind."

"And risk a victory by Corypheus?" Dorian sighed, leaning his head back to rest against the wall. "I know I am only one man, and certainly not the Herald of Andraste, but I could never live with myself if I left, no matter the provocation, and watched Corypheus emerge as the victor from afar. I have given up everything to be here, to fight this foe, and I _will_ see this to the end." A haunted look came to his face. "No matter what."

"I know," Cullen's arms tightened around him as Dorian trembled again. "I know." After that, words failed him, so he settled on holding the mage as tightly as he could. "I'm here."

There wasn't really room for words after that.

Later in Cullen's bed, after Dorian had regained his equilibrium and the closeness of comfort had turned to the lust of love, the two men cuddled together in the calm of quiet contentment. As had become their custom in the few precious nights they'd shared before the Inquisition had left for the Arbor Wilds, they lay facing each other, with Dorian curled into Cullen's chest as the warrior held him close. Cullen watched with a smile on his face as Dorian drifted into sleep, occasionally running his fingers through the man's hair as if to assure himself that Dorian had, in fact, returned.

When his own eyelids started to droop, however, Cullen shook himself awake and gently extracted himself from the sleeping beauty in his bed. Quietly he knelt in front of the small chest next to the bed, fingers questing for something in particular. Once he found it, he pulled it out of the chest and held it up, watching the metal serpent gleam softly in the moonlight. A movement on the bed caught his attention, and he quickly crawled up onto the bed to snuggle close to Dorian once more.

"Abandoning me already, _amatus?"_ Dorian chided in a sleepy murmur. "You know how terribly I freeze when I'm not being held in your strong arms."

Cullen had to chuckle as he kissed the top of Dorian's head. "You do realize I've figured out your little cantrip, don't you? You can stay warm quite easily on your own."

Giving out a little mock gasp, Dorian peeked up at Cullen. "Are you insinuating that I would use _magic_ for something so trivial as keeping the cold at bay?"

Tapping the tip of Dorian's nose with a fingertip, Cullen replied, "You know very well that is exactly what I'm saying." He cut off any further protest with a kiss. When Dorian moaned softly and pressed in to deepen the embrace, Cullen was only too happy to let him. As he did so, his hand with the chain wrapped around it stroked down Dorian's back, eliciting a small yelp as the cold metal touched Dorian's bare skin.

When he made his apologies and pulled the amulet away, Dorian reached out and halted the movement. "What is it?" he asked curiously. "You can't very well dangle an icicle down my back and then give me no explanation, can you?"

Cullen's hand tightened around the amulet before he chuckled. "Well, no. But I'd hoped for a rather more- I mean, you're still recovering from that fight with the dragon." Part of him had been holding out for a moment of perfection, a break from the madness which lasted longer than a few hours, so that he could finally find the eloquence to say fully what lay in his heart. As he looked down at Dorian, however, a sudden urgency swept over him, an abrupt sense of wanting this moment to be their eternity. Shifting his position to sit on his knees facing Dorian, he pressed a kiss to the man's forehead. "But then, given how things have been, perhaps I shouldn't delay any longer." He brought the amulet up, still clutching it tight. "I've had this for a while now, actually. It just never seemed to be the right time."

"Our time has been scarce together, true," Dorian said, sitting up straight and reaching for Cullen's hand. "But now you've managed to make me quite curious, _amatus._ What could you be- Oh." His eyes widened as Cullen's hand opened in his, revealing the amulet with the double-headed serpent set atop the symbol of House Pavus. "Where did you find this?" he breathed, one of his fingers tracing the twined serpent with habitual precision.

"I had Leliana make some enquiries," Cullen explained. "I know I already gave you the coin, but I didn't want to leave something so significant to you in the hands of an Orlesian." When Dorian's eyebrow rose, Cullen coughed sheepishly. "Leliana excepted, of course."

Dorian chuckled softly, his fingers still resting on the amulet. "I'm rather surprised she caught wind of it in the first place. Or perhaps I shouldn't be, at that." He looked up into Cullen's face. "A month ago I would have worried about what people would have thought about the Commander of the Inquisition Forces expending resources to retrieve a trinket for a Tevinter mage."

"And now?" Cullen asked, eyebrow raised slightly.

"Now?" Dorian's face softened, and he reached up to stroke Cullen's cheek with a gentle touch. "I know who my friends are, and I trust Leliana to be discreet. More than that, I don't care anymore. Or at least, not about that. There are far more important things on my mind of late." Curling Cullen's fingers around the amulet, he added, "And I can think of no better place for this to remain than in your keeping. After all, you already have something far more precious to me in your keeping."

"And what is that?" Cullen murmured, settling his hand on top of Dorian's before the mage could lower it.

An adoring smile came to Dorian's face. "My heart, _amatus,"_ he whispered, then sank his free hand into Cullen's hair and pulled him in close, their lips brushing together.

"A fair exchange for mine, then." Cullen's arm wrapped his arm around Dorian's waist and let his weight pull them down to lie on the bed. The amulet slipped from their hands as they both reached for each other as Cullen claimed the mage for another, more passionate kiss.

It wasn't until the mage pushed Cullen onto his back and pressed his lover's wrists down into the pillows above his head that Cullen truly registered the urgency which had returned to Dorian. His lips set about devouring Cullen's skin one searing kiss at a time, worshiping the man beneath him with an attention and devotion borne of an emotion yet unspoken. Soon Cullen felt as if he were on fire with the heat of Dorian's fervor and his own blood roaring through his veins, and the small space around his bed rang with his panted gasps and moans. When Dorian was forced to let go of his wrists, Cullen's hands found a natural home in the mage's hair, tightening into fists as Dorian drew Cullen into his mouth in a slow, controlled motion.

 _"Maker,"_ Cullen moaned, then gave himself to the passion of the man he loved, both when he was teased by that oh-so-clever tongue, and later when each thrust of his hips drove Dorian deeper into the mattress beneath.

The moon had long passed its height by the time Cullen collapsed onto Dorian, both of them too spent to do much more than hold on to each other in the darkness. This time it was Cullen who succumbed to slumber first, soothed to sleep by Dorian's gentle stroking of his hair. For the first time since the battle in the Arbor Wilds, he allowed himself to fully relax.

As he fell into slumber, Dorian's voice soothed him still. "Sleep well, _amatus."_

When the building shook, Cullen woke immediately, his training serving to roll his body from the bed and onto its bed before he'd fully shed the last vestiges of sleep. He staggered when the building shook again, dust settling falling from the rafters above. He saw that the night still lingered, but that didn't matter, especially as Dorian also vaulted to his feet.

The sight of a vast expanse of green light in the sky made his breath catch in his throat, and in an instant he understood the nature of the attack, even as Dorian breathed, "Corypheus."

The next few moments were a flurry of finding discarded clothing and armor and setting it back into their proper place, followed by a hasty scramble down the ladder. Cullen jerked the door to his office open and stared as he saw the pitched battle raging in the eerie green light of the rift above. The Inquisitor was in the distance, barking orders, and Cullen didn't need to look back to know that Dorian was close on his heels as he charged forward to join the fray.

The beasts they fought were nothing new, demons which poured from the rift at random intervals. He felt the grim determination around him as the Inquisition forces fought to ensure that this battle would not be a repetition of the one at Haven, each sword stroke and loosed arrow a defiance against the army which had bested them once before.

The Inquisitor did not sit still, of course, coordinating seamlessly with Cullen in arranging the remaining forces around Skyhold to defend those who could not fight. Cullen had never doubted her courage, only her methods, but her courage had its effect, and the demons were cut down almost as fast as they dropped from the rift. As the last of the foes fell under Iron Bull's maul, a cheer arose among the ranks, but Cullen didn't dally as he ran to Dorian's side.

Even as he moved, however, the rift above flared, sending out a cacophonous pulse of energy that knocked most of those below to their knees, and more demons began to stream down from the sky. This time they were accompanied by an ominous rumble from the ground, and as the fresh wave of enemies landed on the ground, the rumbling increased into full blown tremors. Cullen grabbed Dorian's hand instinctively, pulling him to safety as the ground where he'd stood split in two.

"Bull, Varric, Dorian - to me!" Adaar's voice cut through the growing chaos, even as a large barrier sprang up above the gathered Inquisition forces to stop a flurry of fireballs falling from the sky before they hit the ground.

Dorian turned quickly to Cullen, grasping the warrior's face between his hands as he stared intently into Cullen's eyes. "I will look for you when we return, and you had damned well better be waiting for me."

"Always," Cullen assured him, reaching up to take one of his hands and squeeze it tightly. "I promise."

Dorian opened his mouth to respond, but his words were drowned out by another resounding explosion from above. _"Veshante kaffas,_ he is eager to die." Abruptly he seized Cullen's lips with his own, desperation fueling it as much as adoration. _"Amatus,_ I-" The words failed him, replaced by a shuddering breath and a gleam in his grey eyes.

Again the ground shook, and Cullen pulled Dorian into a fierce hug. "I know. Now go kill that bastard."

"Gladly." With a nod, Dorian turned and dashed towards where the Inquisitor stood. Cullen watched until they disappeared from sight, then set his jaw and turned to the enemy with his sword raised.

He would be waiting for Dorian when he returned, no matter what.


	9. Chapter 9

The pulsing green light filled the air around him as Cullen rallied the Inquisition forces to meet the waves of demons which fell from the breach in the sky. Blood and ichor met and merged on the stones beneath his feet as his sword cut through them over and over again. His mind struggled with the sight of the Breach which once more disrupted the sky above the Temple of the Sacred Ashes, the green pallor it cast reminding him all too clearly of other times he had fought demons in the sickly light of the Fade. Now, however, the stakes were much higher than one fortress and his own sanity, more even than the life of the Divine herself. The Herald of Andraste fought a madman who would claim the mantle of the Maker, and that he would gladly fight to his death to prevent.

There was no night and no day under that pulsating viridian glow from the sky above, only the unrelenting malice of the enemy. His voice roughened as he shouted orders to his soldiers, always moving to avoid falling victim to the unsteady ground as it rumbled and groaned beneath him. The uneven footing made the battle more of a challenge, but he did not falter, nor did the men and women around him. The Inquisitor fought for Thedas, and they could do no less.

Amidst the chaos and confusion of demons and soldiers and the restless earth, Cullen almost didn't notice what was happening in the distance - at least, not until he paused to catch his breath and look around the battlefield. Even when he saw it, comprehension was slow to come. His mouth dropped open as the Temple of Sacred Ashes wrenched itself from the ground and rose into the sky, moving with an eerie grace. When the red lyrium which made up its walls awoke and shone with new vigor, the crimson mixed with the green hue of the Breach above and cast a sickly yellow light over the land.

"He must be using the red lyrium!" Cassandra yelled as she came to stand next to Cullen. "Even Corypheus wouldn't have enough power to lift the entire Temple on his own."

"Perhaps he's drawing power through the Breach as well," Cullen shouted. "He's mad enough to use red lyrium in ways no sane man would consider. Who's to say he's not trying to draw magic from the Fade itself in his quest for power?"

Cassandra shook her head in bewilderment, even as her sword lashed out to sink into a nearby shade. "But why would he do this?"

Abruptly a bright aura appeared around a lower section of the soaring Temple, and Cullen immediately recognized it as the work of a powerful Knight-Enchanter. "He seeks to separate the Inquisitor from her support," he realized. "She must have fought her way to the Temple to confront him directly."

"Then we should do the same," Cassandra declared.

"Agreed." Pivoting to bash a nearby shriek, Cullen sank his blade into the thing's neck before yanking it out and raising his sword in a signal to those around him. "To me! We're taking the fight to the Temple and Corypheus himself!"

The answering shouts were perhaps less numerous than he would have preferred, but carried all the fervor he could wish for. Together he and Cassandra led the fight to the broken ground where once the Temple had rested, clashing with the demons once more as they swarmed from the Breach above. A brief conversation with Scout Harding confirmed what Cullen had guessed: Adaar and her chosen companions had engaged Corypheus just before the Temple had risen into the sky, leaving behind the demons to take out the Inquisition forces.

As his sword rose and fell, Cullen couldn't help but steal glances upwards, heart pounding for a reason other than physical exertion. He could clearly see the clash of spells reflected in the clouds over the soaring stones above, indicating that a battle of epic proportion was underway, one which would surely result in the end of either the Inquisitor or Corypheus.

 _And Dorian was up there with her._

A slash of pain in his arm snapped his attention from the floating fortress above, and he snarled as he used his shield to knock the rage demon in front of him back before his sword slashed across its front. Forcing his mind back on the fight, he surged forward with a renewed vigor.

Finally the furor of the onslaught slowed, and stream of demons falling from the Breach slowed to a trickle. Inevitably his gaze was drawn to the sky above, and on the Temple which hovered there. Every time a scatter of magic shone in the clouds, his hand tightened around the hilt of his sword until it ached.

When the first roar pierced the sky above, he reflexively brought his shield up in defense. As the dragon swept over them, he gaped up at it, then took a step back as another dragon appeared from the clouds above to slam into the first one with an ear-shattering shriek. As the first dragon began to fall towards the ground, Cullen shouted, "Fall back!" A flurry of activity followed, though in the end the dragon regained its altitude and turned to attack the other with a blast of fire. As the winged titans grappled each other, they disappeared above the floating ramparts into the clouds once more.

"Maker save us," Cassandra breathed. "Is _that_ what the Inquisitor has to fight? Along with Corypheus?"

"Andraste keep them safe," Cullen whispered harshly, then shook himself and looked around at his scattered troops. Most of them simply looked a bit dazed from the battle and its aftermath, but as the shock faded, he saw the need for action. "Look sharp!" Striding into their midst, he snapped orders at people as he passed them. "We've wounded to tend to, and fallen to prepare for their final honors. The Inquisition still stands, and the Herald still fights!" Quickly he gave orders for the unwounded to take up the front line as the lightly wounded aided those more heavily injured from the field.

Once that was dealt with, he turned and moved to the forefront of his troops, waiting with sword and shield ready. At this point, that was all he _could_ do.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer to the Maker before letting a small whisper slip out, a desperate entreaty for someone else entirely: "Come back to me."

 _You start awake from your battle stupor, fighting to open your eyes as a trickle of liquid warmth runs down your face. Forcing your eyelids apart, you push yourself to your feet, desperately searching through the wreckage of the Temple for the others. Surely they must have survived the onslaught of the beast before your last volley of magic sent it crashing to the ground. Surely._

Come back to me.

 _Ignoring the stabbing in your side as you summon a feeble barrier against the cold, you stumble towards a huddled form behind a rock. Relief fills you as you find a battered yet breathing dwarf, face covered with blood. Ignoring the consequences and the stench of sweet sourness, you gulp down the contents of a blue bottle and do what you can for him with a trickle of warm magic. "Come on, Varric," you murmur. "You haven't won my last sovereign yet."_

 _A grin lifts one corner of Varric's mouth as he chuckles. "And it'd be a damn shame if I didn't, Sparkler." The dwarf shakes his head and tries to stand, but falls back almost immediately. Pulling a bottle which gleams red from his tunic, Varric pops the cork out and raises it in salute. "I'll need a moment, but I'll be right with you. I promise." You acknowledge him with a nod before turning to search for the others._

Come back to me.

 _Breath hissing through your teeth as each step causes a fresh surfeit of agony, you manage to reach the heap of gleaming metal and grey skin lying motionless under one of the dragon's legs. Though the gleaming gold breastplate is misshapen and bent, the chest beneath it still rises and falls. Your hands fall to rest on Bull's shoulder, giving the Qunari what magic and warmth you can despite the increasing chill in your own body. When Bull suddenly gasps and jerks to life, you don't bother to disguise the smile that comes to your lips even as you can't resist teasing the horned giant. "And here I thought the dragon might have done me a favor."_

 _"Yeah, yeah," Bull grunted, then suddenly reaches up and pulls you down into a hug. "You'd miss me and you know it, Vint." After a moment, Bull pushes you away and reaches down to struggle against the weight pinning him down. "Just give me a moment to get this dragon off me and I'll be right with you. Promise."_

 _"I'll hold you to that," you tell him as you ignore the pricking at the back of your eyes. "Maybe I'll even try that swill you call Qunari ale once this is all over." As Bull chuckles, you squeeze his shoulder one more time and rise to continue your search. There is still one person left to find, after all._

Come back to me.

 _You find her limp form far away from the others, flung with great force to dangle on the edge of the floating cobblestones. Ignoring the pain and the spreading stain at your side, you drag her away from the edge and then kneel beside her. Another bottle of blue twisted ecstasy is swallowed before you rest your hands on her forehead, calling the Inquisitor back from the Fade with all the healing magic and desperation you have at your disposal. "Please," you whisper. "Corypheus yet remains."_

 _Lavender eyes rimmed with red suddenly open and stare into the cool grey of your own, and with a frown, she shoves you away. "I'm fine, Vint." Ignoring your gasp of pain, she stands and retrieves her staff, her hand stroking over the head of one of the snakes which had last graced Calpernia's shoulder. She watches you struggle to your feet with a calculating gaze, but makes no move to help. After a moment, her eyes flicker towards the stairs leading above, to the silhouette of the madman with the red orb glowing in his hand. "He will fall before me. They all will." Your blood turns to ice as her gaze returns to you, the faint whispers from the ancient Well closing around her as a fey light comes to her eyes. "You all will."_

 _You raise your hands in silent pleading as her staff lowers to point at you. An instant is all you have to decide whether or not to act against her or accept the fate you have feared since the Temple of Mythal. For that bare moment, the life of the Inquisitor hangs in the balance, and beyond that, the fate of Thedas. Your eyes close as you make your choice, bracing for the impact of her assault. Then there is no time: no time for more than a gasp as the purple tendrils wrap around you, no time to fight the pain as it courses through your body, no time to speak as you are flung over the precipice._

 _No time save enough to see the cruel smile settle onto her lips as your body succumbs to the inevitable and plummets into the darkness. No time save enough to plead the forgiveness of the man you wish you could see one more time before that darkness swallows you whole._

"Come back to me." The words became a whispered mantra as Cullen maintained his vigil, eyes fixed on the sky and the battle above with his sword point grounded between his feet. Once it was clear that the fall of the demons from the rent in the sky had ceased, Cassandra came to join him, adapting a similar position with her helmet held under one arm. As time went on, others joined them, but far enough away to give the two their own space.

When Cassandra finally spoke, it came as a shock to his ears, though she spoke in a gentle tone. "They will return."

His only response was a tight nod, since he didn't trust his voice in that moment. His hands tightened around his hilt as a particularly bright explosion shook the floating Temple above. In a tight voice, he finally grated, "They must return."

"We must have faith in-" Cassandra began, then gasped and pointed upwards. "The Breach!"

Cullen's eyes snapped upwards in time to see the gaping gangrenous gouge in the sky convulse for a moment. "Brace yourselves!" he shouted as he fell to his knees with a clatter just as the shockwave hit. While he shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, he looked up once more - in time to see the Temple begin its descent back to the ground. Without conscious thought his feet set into motion, his eyes locked on the floating ruin as he raced towards where it would likely land. He only came to a halt when the bricks impacted the ground, sending a shockwave out that staggered those approaching.

His breath caught when he saw silhouettes appear at the top of the stairs leading down to where everyone had gathered. The Inquisitor and Iron Bull were easy to spot, though Varric took a bit longer to emerge from the haze of darkness. He waited, a chill growing in his chest as his eyes remained locked on the empty archway, but no one else followed. When Adaar reached the bottom of the stairs, he shoved his way forward through the crowd awaiting her and demanded, "Where is Dorian?"

He saw Bull wince and look away as Adaar tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I have defeated an ancient evil who wished to take on the mantle of a god, and that is how you greet me?"

Cullen gritted his teeth. "With respect for what you've accomplished, Inquisitor, my concern is for those who serve the Inquisition. I see the others who went with you to fight Corypheus, but not Dorian. I am... concerned." Concern, of course, was no adequate word to describe what he was feeling. By this point, the chill in his heart had turned into an almost physical pain, but he dared not question Adaar too fiercely, not now when the shouts of praise were already rising from the throats of those around him. Even if all he wanted to do was seize the woman by her shoulders and shake her until she answered.

Adaar frowned, but finally gave a little shrug. "He fell," she said in clipped tones, then pushed past Cullen and called for a messenger to run ahead to Skyhold and tell Josephine to prepare for a victory celebration.

"No." The word was a mere murmur, the only one to escape the stream of denial inside his head. No, no, _no,_ Cullen had _not_ just heard those words. His hands clenched into fists as his body shuddered, the ice in his chest spreading to his entire body. The chill stole his ability to speak before he could think to ask her anything further, and left him staring into the dark as a sharp agony tore through him.

 _He fell._

Two simple words, yet the implications could prove devastating. Death in battle was undoubtedly a constant danger for any of the Inquisitor's companions, and yet… Cullen clenched his teeth in a sudden burst of anger as an insidious thought rose in his mind. Had Dorian fallen in the heat of battle, blasted by the heat of a mad god's magic, or had Calpernia's fate in the Temple of Mythal been but a foreshadowing?

Cullen jerked as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, his breath coming in almost panicked gasps as he looked up into the face of the Iron Bull. "Did you see-?" His voice failed, cracking before he could bring himself to utter the fateful words.

Bull shook his head, but the way he didn't quite meet Cullen's gaze dashed any lingering shred of hope. "You should go look for him," he said in a hushed rumble. "It might be worth a try."

"Really?" The word came out harsh enough to make Bull wince, but Cullen offered no apology. The world seemed too distant and hollow for that. "If you didn't see it, then who did?"

For a moment, Bull didn't answer, though his heavy sigh indicated the weight on his own shoulders. Finally, he said, "You'd never forgive yourself if you don't look for him."

A little shock ran through Cullen as he realized the truth of those words. No matter what it meant, no matter what he might discover, he had to find Dorian.

Without another word, Cullen pushed past Bull and made for the Temple. One way or another, he _had_ to know.

The world proved to be a dark and lonely place in the shadows behind the Temple, especially in light of the havoc which the Temple's sudden departure for the skies had wreaked upon the ground. Huge drifts of snow alternated with overturned earth and ragged ruins, which meant that simply walking through the landscape made each step an act of faith and desperation. To make matters worse, the snow falling from the sky changed from occasional flurries to a thicker blanket of white, heralding a blizzard in signs he'd come to recognize over the months the Inquisition had occupied Haven. The world seemed to be conspiring against Cullen, from the sky to the earth to everything in between.

None of that mattered, however. At this point Andraste herself wouldn't have been able to deter him from his task. The same dogged determination which had saved his life and sanity in Kinloch Hold, and made him serve a poor master for far too long in Kirkwall, now kept him moving, ever forward, into the harsh winds and unforgiving landscape. When his foot found a hole and forced him to stumble to his knees, he ignored the abrupt agony which awoke in his ankle and pressed onwards.

Over time, the cold merged with the ache in his heart as he forced himself to climb one more snowdrift, to check under one more tree, fighting to hold onto that one last bit of hope that Dorian hadn't fallen into an endless dark where no one would find him. The pain of his twisted ankle became a distant memory as he lost all sensation in his legs below the knee save for an infernal itching that seemed to slowly consume his body from the ground up. When his shield's weight slowed him down too much, he dropped it in the snow behind him, and when his sword banged his leg one too many times, it was similarly abandoned to the wilderness. The thick fur of his mantle at least warded the cold from his face and hands as he buried them deep in its silken strands, but all of that faded into the background.

He would not give up. He _could_ not give up.

Deeper and deeper into the darkness he wandered, all too aware of just how much ground he had to cover. After climbing one particularly steep hill, he fell to his knees and took a few heaving breaths as he fought to catch his breath. "Maker," he whispered softly, "he could be anywhere out here." For a moment the enormity of his task crushed his shoulders, and he bent over to scream his frustration to the snow. When that burst of energy passed, he looked up to the stars before closing his eyes for a moment. _"Maker,"_ he breathed, and this time, it seemed more a plea than a curse.

After a few moments in wordless prayer, he opened his eyes once more - just in time to see the moon emerge from behind the clouds. Its quiet light bathed the snow around him with a cool radiance, creating an eerie beauty in the silence that for a moment calmed his frazzled nerves. Taking that calm to heart, he forced himself to analyze the area, trying to view it as a battlefield and take in every detail.

 _What was that?_

His eyes widened as he waited a few breaths, an ember of hope awakening within. When he saw it again - a sparkle of _something_ in a landscape of bare snow and trees - he heaved himself to his feet and stumbled down the hill towards it.

The twinkling light beckoned him ever onwards, the hope in his heart giving him the surge of strength he needed to cover those last few dozen yards. When he saw a patch of black amidst the white and green, he broke into a shambling run that ended with him falling to his knees beside a snow-covered, misshapen lump that sprouted hair from one end.

In a frenzy, he brushed the snow away from Dorian as best as he could, cursing his clumsy fingers as they struggled to be careful even in his haste. The blood covering one side of Dorian's face indicated injuries, but with so much snow on top of him, it was hard to determine the extent of the damage. As his hands moved over the mage's chest, he saw the sparkle again, and couldn't help but smile as his fingers found a familiar coin housed in a silver pendant around Dorian's neck. For all the buckles and other metal accoutrements that made up Dorian's wardrobe, it had been the moonlight glinting off of that lucky coin which had attracted Cullen's attention.

Once Dorian was uncovered, Cullen held his vambrace under Dorian's nose, holding his breath as he waited for the telltale mist of life to appear. "Please," he said softly, "please, don't be dead. Don't be dead." The words poured from his lips until a small curl of breath bloomed on the metal. At the sight, his breath escaped in a rush of air as he wrapped the man in his arms and dared to dream of tomorrow once more.

He heard the hiss of an indrawn breath and immediately relaxed his grip. "Sorry," he said, pulling back so that he could cup his hand on Dorian's cheek. A tremulous smile came to his lips as a pair of grey eyes fluttered open. "You're alive," he whispered, albeit a bit needlessly.

"I'm in far too much pain to be otherwise." With a soft groan, Dorian's head fell back, but his hand feebly jerked into motion.

Sensing the mage's unspoken request, Cullen took the questing hand into his own, pressing it to his lips for a kiss. "You're alive. Thank the Maker. When the Inquisitor said you fell, I feared the worst."

A raspy sound came from Dorian's lips, and it took a few moments for him to realize that Dorian was laughing weakly. "I fell? Is that what she claimed? Thank the Maker that I live, but she certainly had no part in my survival." Dorian's voice, though weak, rang with a strong bitterness. "I was nothing but another Vint to her all along. No better than Corypheus. No better than Alexius. No better than Calpernia." For a moment, the laughter began again, but this time Cullen saw Dorian's face contract as something wet on his cheeks glittered in the moonlight. "I thought no one could betray me worse than my Father had. I was wrong."

The words drove a chill of ice into Cullen's heart, and reached up to brush the man's tears away. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I'm here. I'll protect you."

Dorian took another shuddering breath, then looked up to meet Cullen's gaze with his red-rimmed eyes. "Thank you, _amatus._ That means more to me than you know."

For a moment, Cullen simply savored the fact that Dorian was alive and that they were together. When he saw Dorian shiver, however, he cleared his throat and pulled the furry mantle off of his shoulders to wrap around the mage. "We've got to get you to shelter. Not Skyhold," he added, dismissing it out of hand. "There's still enough of the Temple left that we can hide out here for a couple of days. We still have friends in the Inquisition who can help us."

"Do we, _amatus?"_ Dorian asked as his eyes sagged shut. "Who would dare risk the wrath of the Inquisitor?"

"Hey, hey. What am I, chopped nug?" a voice boomed from behind Cullen.

Cullen started, then turned around to see the Iron Bull emerge from the darkness, pulling a cart behind him and covered with a fine coat of snow. Relief flooded through Cullen as he stood and clumsily moved to help the Bull heave the cart the last few feet to where Dorian lay. "Not that I'm complaining, but how on Thedas did you find us?"

With a broad grin, Bull reached into the cart behind him and pulled out Cullen's sword, discarded in the search for Dorian. "You left a trail of shiny metal behind you in the snow, not to mention a lot of footprints. You're not exactly light on your feet, you know."

"Well, neither are you," Cullen said, a smile coming to his face. "Do you have blankets?"

"A whole bunch. And a few other things, too." A haunted look came to his face as he looked to where Dorian lay bundled in Cullen's fur. In a soft rumble, he asked, "How is he?"

"Hurt, but alive." Cullen said, the smile falling away.

"Then that's all that matters." Clearing his throat, Bull continued in a louder voice, "I brought what I could grab. Splints, potions, tinctures, linen... You name it, it's here." Bull gave one last grunt before letting go of the cart. "Right, let's move him."

"Wait," Cullen said softly as he put his hand on Bull's shoulder. "What about the Inquisitor? Does she know where you are?"

Another grin came to Bull's face. "You might say she's a bit tied up at the moment."

 _"Bull!"_ Cheeks burning, Cullen gave the laughing Bull a shove and stalked over to Dorian. Pushing the thought of that incredibly awkward afternoon when he'd found the Inquisitor alone with Bull aside, he focused wholly on the task at hand. It didn't take long to get the mage into the cart, and soon Bull was pulling them back to the dubious shelter of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He cradled Dorian as best as he could as they moved, each grimace of pain on the mage's face a separate little stab of pain and anger.

By the time they rolled into the Temple, another surprise awaited them in the form of Vivienne and a few healers from the Inquisition. The imposing First Enchanter took one look at Dorian and then issued a series of orders that ended with Dorian bundled in blankets while she and her team tended to Dorian's injuries.

This left Cullen with very little to do, and he soon found himself prowling the perimeter of the impromptu camp which had sprung up. His focus remained on where they tended to Dorian, uncertain what he could do, and his expression remained grim. In his distraction, it was simple for the Bull to take him unawares, and his jump when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder made the Qunari laugh.

"Calm down, Cullen. It's just me." The rumble of Bull's voice seemed to fill the empty cold around them, and gave Cullen something to think about besides the worried frown on Vivienne's face.

"I know, Bull. It's just-" He looked towards the huddle. "I feel so helpless. I'm no man of healing."

Bull squinted at Cullen. "You may not have magic or potions, but I think you have something more important than either of those. And I think you know it, too."

For a moment, Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not only that. What if-" His voice faltered, unable to speak the worst of his fears.

"Now I'm going to stop you right there," Bull said firmly. "I've seen you two together. There's nothing your presence could make worse, and plenty it could make better. Sometimes you sit back and let the professionals handle things, but sometimes you just gotta charge in and take care of it yourself." Settling his hand on Cullen's shoulder again, he craned his neck until Cullen was forced to meet his gaze. "And you'll never forgive yourself if you weren't there and the worst happened."

Cullen inhaled sharply. He knew Bull was right, but something about the man's choice of words… "Have you forgiven yourself? For what happened on the Storm Coast, I mean."

"I was there when the worst happened," Bull said softly. "And someday I'll force it to all make sense again. Now," he gestured to where Vivienne and healers surrounded Dorian, "get over there."

Wordlessly, Cullen nodded. As he set in motion, however, Bull's hand abruptly reached for his shoulder. That was enough to make Cullen pause long enough to give Bull a quizzical glance.

Bull held Cullen's gaze for a long moment before looking away to stare at the distant lights of Skyhold. "Just… just promise me that you and the Vint won't be around when I make sense of everything, all right?"

For a long moment, Cullen studied Bull's face, then nodded slowly. He didn't truly understand, but he knew that the Inquisitor's actions against Dorian had not aided an already strained relationship. "I promise, Bull," he said softly.

Bull's shoulders sagged. "Thanks." With a final squeeze, he let go of Cullen and held out his hand. "Farewell, Cullen. Give the Vint my love."

And again Cullen was struck by the Bull's deliberate phrasing, accustomed as he was to the man's usual way of ending a conversation. _See you around,_ or maybe even _Catch you later,_ but certainly never anything _final._

Until now.

Cullen grasped as much of Bull's forearm as he could, giving him a full warrior's respect. "Goodbye, Bull. It was an honor to fight with you."

"Likewise. Now go on, get over there." Bull squared his shoulders as he reached up to touch the dragon's tooth which hung around his neck. "I have work to do." Without another word, he turned and began the long trudge back to the Inquisitor.

With a heavy sigh, Cullen left the man to his fate and moved towards his own. His step quickened when he saw that Dorian had finally roused, hair thoroughly mussed and with dark circles under his eyes. Hurrying to the mage's side, he sat beside Dorian and took his hand. He listened with a frown as Vivienne listed the extent of the injuries, wincing in particular when she noted the crushed ankle which had borne the brunt of Dorian's fall. "Still," she noted clinically, "he will walk again. Eventually. Be sure not to let him walk any time soon, however," she told Cullen serenely.

"Have I no say in the matter?" Dorian said indignantly. "It _is_ my foot, after all."

"You have historically made a very poor patient, my dear. At least Cullen has shown a minimal sense of self-preservation in his past."

Cullen had to hide a smile as Dorian _humph_ ed. "Don't think I'll forget this," he said testily.

"And I'm sure that your displeasure will haunt my sleep for minutes to come," she said with a perfectly straight face. "However, I must return to Skyhold. Do take care, darlings." The way she looked at Cullen in particular held a certain weight, as if to make sure that Cullen did not do so in Skyhold.

"I always follow good advice," Cullen told her with a nod. Though they hadn't always seen eye to eye, he and Vivienne had reached a place of healthy mutual respect - and her warning coupled with Bull's remarks had only reinforced his own decision to never again set foot in any stronghold of the Inquisition.

After Vivienne had taken her gracious leave, Cullen leaned in and wrapped his arms tightly around Dorian, no longer afraid of hurting him besides the hefty splint around his ankle. "I was afraid I'd lost you," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Arms wrapped around Cullen in return, clinging tight. "As was.I."

Dorian's voice was so soft that Cullen pulled back so he could examine the man's face. The vulnerability he found there, evident in gleaming grey eyes and trembling lips, made Cullen's heart skip a beat. When Dorian's hand stole up to clutch at the pendant of House Pavus hanging from the cord around his neck, Cullen instinctively wrapped his hand around the lucky coin which had reunited them earlier.

Breath caught in his throat, he cupped Dorian's face and claimed the man's lips in a long, tender kiss. The cold and darkness around them melted away, and all that mattered was the taste of Dorian's lips, the tickle of his mustache, and the faint musky scent which yet lingered in his hair. When their lips finally parted to allow a gasping breath, their eyes remained locked with each other.

Later, neither would lay claim to speaking the words first. They rose unbidden in Cullen's throat, his lips moving at the same moment as Dorian spoke softly, their whispers reaching only the ears of the other man: "I love you."

As the words hung between them, the realization hit Cullen all at once: there lay no masks between them. There was no more Altus. No more Commander. No more mage and Templar, no more Vint and Ferelden. There were only two men who had confessed their love under the cold light of the full moon, with those three words making an oath they both knew the other man would never betray. Wordlessly Cullen pressed his forehead to Dorian's as his eyes closed, letting the relief and joy of the moment wash over him. After a breath or two, their lips met once more in a silent confirmation of what lay between them, and when they broke apart, their lips were curved in tender smiles.

Finally, reluctantly, Cullen broke the silence. "We need to decide where we'll go from here, you know."

"Does it matter?" Dorian murmured, voice a bit unsteady in pitch. "I'd even live among the dog-lords for you."

Cullen chuckled softly. "How generous of you to grace us with your presence," he teased the man.

"Hush," Dorian chided him. "Now is the time to be silent and let me adore you."

"Oh, is that what it is?" Cullen said, an irrepressible smile coming to his face. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You should endeavor to do so." For a moment more Dorian simply smiled at him, but eventually he sighed wearily. "I wish I could stare into your eyes for all of time, _amatus,_ but my body is weak where the heart is willful."

Instantly contrite, Cullen pulled the blankets up around him and tucked him into the veritable nest of blankets in which he lay. "Rest, my love," he said softly. "There are matters to which I must attend."

Eyes already closed, Dorian nodded as he sagged into the blankets. "Wake me when it is time to leave," he murmured.

"I will." Cullen watched until the man was asleep, the smile lingering on his lips for a moment. After a moment he reached out to gently stroke his fingers down one cheek, silently thanking the Maker once more. As he rose to his feet, though, a grim determination swept over him. Skyhold simply wasn't an option for them, but neither was staying here.

He had work to do as well, it seemed. Yet this time, instead of working for an oath or a cause, he had something far more personal at stake.

The next few days flew by in a flurry of activity. During that first night, Cassandra arrived with horses and a cart carrying a message from Leliana that they were not safe. Dorian and Cullen were bundled onto the cart, resting as best as they could while Cassandra guided them through a series of checkpoints chosen by Leliana to evade the Inquisitor's gaze. Cullen was gratified to find a small cache of gifts in the back of the cart: a jingling pouch of coin from Josephine, a collection of Dorian's favorite books stolen from Skyhold's library by Varric, a satchel full of potions from Vivienne along with a note for their most effective use, and even a surprisingly sweet note from Cole encouraging them to 'be the light to banish the shadows' for each other. By the time they arrived at the Storm Coast, Dorian's ankle had healed enough that he could walk with aid, which Cullen was quite happy to provide.

They made their final farewells to Cassandra in the secret cove of the Storm Coast, on a ship that Cassandra declared was Leliana's affair and not hers, and it was by far the most poignant for Cullen. After all, she was the woman who had pulled him from the despair of Kirkwall and pushed him down the path of giving up lyrium. He owed her a great deal, even before she'd helped them escape the clutches of the Inquisition.

"What will you do now?" he asked after their final embrace on the docks. Dorian was at his side, still a bit pale and shaky on his feet, but alive and free of the Inquisition - as they both were.

"The Seekers still need to be rebuilt," Cassandra said with a nod. "Perhaps the Inquisitor didn't see fit to support my endeavors, but you have proven that her judgment is questionable."

Dorian snorted lightly. "And the sun is a trifle hot in the Western Reaches," he muttered.

Cassandra's lips twitched. "I suppose for a time we all hoped to believe in her more than her actions merited. With Corypheus defeated, however, she is no longer our concern." Taking the hand of each man with one of her own, Cassandra said in a quiet voice, "You are wise to return to the Imperium. I do not know what the Inquisitor intends, but it is not to go quietly into the night."

"I have allies in my homeland, despite the machinations of my father," Dorian said with a nod. "With the Venatori defeated alongside Corypheus, perhaps the voice of reason can once again be raised. That is _my_ hope, at least."

"May the Maker guide you, Dorian, and hold both of you in his hand." Giving a final squeeze, she let go and stepped back. "Be safe. Thedas owes both of you a debt of gratitude."

"Take care, Seeker," Cullen told her with a warm smile. "I hope our paths cross again one day."

"We shall see. In the meantime, farewell." After a formal bow, she turned and left them on the dock.

The men watched her until she was out of sight, at which point Dorian gave a long sigh. "It's finally over, isn't it? Our part in the Inquisition, I mean. We're free. At last, we're free."

Taking the mage's hand in his own, Cullen turned to face him with a smile on his face. "Thank the Maker," he breathed, then stole a soft kiss.

A twinkle came to Dorian's eyes as one curl of his mustache rose in a grin. "What do you say we make use of that remarkably large bed in our cabin, _amatus?"_

"I thought you'd never ask," Cullen breathed, then pulled Dorian close for another kiss before leading the way to the gangplank.

From now on, the only thing he would allow between them was love.

* * *

 ** _AUTHOR'S NOTE:_** _And here we are - finally. I want to thank each and every one of you who have read this story, especially those who took the time to leave a review. It really helped to know that people read and appreciated the story and wanted to know more. I hope you enjoyed the final chapter, and thank you to all who have read it!_

 _One final author's note: I had originally planned two endings for the story, this one and one with a very different tone. In the end, I opted to complete this one. All told, I think it is for the better._


End file.
